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UaO DA ESTE - TJBERTO - 



THE CII> OE SEVILLE 



TRAG^EDIES 



LAUGHTON OSBORN 




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NEW YORK 

JAMES MILLER, 647 BROADWAY 

MDCCCLXIX 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 

LAUGnTON OSBORN, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southera 
District of New York. 



The New York Printing Company, 

8i, 83, and 85 Centre Si., 

New York. 



UGO DA ESTE 

MDCOCLXI 



CHARACTERS, etc. 

NiccoLO III., Ifarqu'is of Fste, — Signor of Ferrara. 
Ugo, his son hy his first loife.^ 

LlONELLO, ) 

-P, y his natural sons. 

BORSO, ) 

Alberto de la Sale, his Minister. 
Uguzione de' Contrarii, Counselor of State. 
ZoESE, a Gentleman of Niccolo's household. 
Aldrovandino Rangon^, Gentleman of the Bedchamber. 
A Priest, Confessor to the Marquis. 
Captain of the Guard. 

Parisina, wife of Niccolo, 
AloVnda, Lady of the Bedchamber. 
Filippa, Mistress of the Wardrobe. 

Jailer. Executioner. 

Scene. The Castle of Ferrara. 
Time. That occupied hy the action. 
Era of the event. The year 1425. 



UGO DA ESTE 



Act the First 

Scene I. A Hall in the Castle. 

Parisina. Zoese. 

Paris, This is somewhat too much. I thought that I 
Was wedded, was thy master's spouse, w^as born 
A lady, and by natural right might claim 
Respect from all, but most from such as thou, 
Who hold'st thy place, thy very life perhaps, 
But at my pleasure. Tempt me not to try 
How much I may do to restore thy senses. 

Zoe. Have patience, madam ! 

Paris. Patience ? Hast thou done? 
Begone ! Or wilt thou venture, sir, perhaps, 
To do more than incense me with thy looks 
Of insolent worship and thy crazy hints 



UGO DA ESTE 



Of admiration of my charms ? Go down, 
Do, on thy knees, and proflfer love outright 
To thy hegelord and master's lady. Go ! 

Zoe. One word ! one moment I if in justice only. 
Gladly would I go down upon my knees, 
honor'd lady, but it were to pray 
That for your own sake, who I not forget 
Are my lord's lady, are by natural right 
Entitled to regard, you will not deem 
My offence premeditated. What I said, 

"What did, was in blind [hesitating. 

Paris. What ? Thou wilt not say, 
In passion? Thou wilt not so dare to add 
Insult to insolence. Have I liv'd for this ? 
The Lady of Ferrara, to be eyed 
With amorous purpose, in my lord's own halls, 
By one of his paid servants ? Hence ! away ! 

Before I call the guard to 

Zoe. On my knees 

Paris. This is too insolent! On my lord's return 

Zoe. You will not be so cruel, for one act 
Never to be repeated, and unweigh'd 
Because unmeditated, give me over 
To my lord's fury, when I thus repent, 

And vow henceforth 

Paris. To better know thy place. 
No; but beware! — [^Turning quicMy^ as if hearing 
footsteps. 
Away ! 



ACT I. SC. 1. 7 

Enter Ugo. 

My gentle lord ! [with 

emotion. 
Ugo manifests emharrassmerit. Zoese observes 
thenij at first luith an expression of surprise^ 
then of suspicion^ and Exit. 
I have been Avishing for thee all the morn. 
Where hast thou kept thyself? It is so lonely 

Since 

Ugo. My sire's absence, is it ? 

Paris. Yes — since then. 
And yet he does not give me of his time 
Many spare moments. It was not so once, 
In those days when I thought he came to woo 

Not for himself, but Whither wilt thou go ? 

Ugo. Madam, I 

Paris. Have no leisure, like my lord? 
Thou wilt not say so, now I have told thee too 
I was so lonesome and did long for thee. 
That were too ungallant. And yet, in sooth. 
Thou dost forget too oft, too oft of late, 
That though thy father's wife I am not thy mother, 
And we are near of age. Be not impatient ! 
And do not go. Thou hast not told me yet, 
Where thou hast been the morn, and how thou lik'st 
The horse I gave thee. 

Ugo. I have just return'd 
From trying him, Madonna. 

Paris. And thou found'st him ? 



8 UGO DA ESTE 



Ugo. All I could wish; so gentle, yet so proud, 

So full of fire, yet yielding to a touch. 
Paris. Even like thyself. In fact, he fits thee well. 
I do avow I watch'd thee from a window 
When thou didst mount him, and my heart beat high 
When I beheld thee pat his shining neck. 
And bend thy cheek, which redden'd with dehght, 
Over his mane. But was it with delight ? 
I know I hop'd so. And I felt so glad, 
And yet so envious too ! I would have given 
Half of my life to be within the breast 

Of that proud barb and have thee so But truly, 

Dost thou indeed well like him ? 

Ugo. Could I else ? 
Didst thou not give him, lady ? From this day, 
I shall bestride no other steed, because — 

Because 

Paris. I gave him ? 

Ugo. Lionello says 
He would become an emperor to ride. 
Thanks yet again, Madonna ; and adieu. 
Paris. What presses thee ? I have so much to say. 
I like not Lionello. Art thou sure 
He is indeed thy friend ? 

Ugo. very sure I 
He is so noble. 

Paris. But so cold. I wonder, 
Thou being gay and ardent, there should be 
Such liking 'twixt you. 



ACT I. SC. 1. 



TIgo. 'T is that I approve 
What I am all too feeble to adopt, 
And he in his large charity endures 
What taste and reason censure. 

Paris. Say not so. 
Thy temper suits thy years. They who are grave 
And cautious in the heyday of their blood 
Are crafty and designing. Have a care ! 

Thy brother is ambitious; and But stay, 

This is no place for converse. Rest thou here. 
I '11 send my bower-maiden in brief time. 
To bid thee come to me. Thou wilt not go ? 
I must have further speech with thee ; I must — 
Show thee thy danger, Ugo. Thou '11 not go ? 
In brief time, Messer Ugo. Stay thou here. 
In brief time, Ugo. [Exit. 

Ugo. Has it come to this ? 

Does she indeed ? I dare not breathe the word, 

Even to myself It should awaken horror. 
But fills me with delight. My father's wife ! 
God, that I had taken heed to this 
Before it was too late ! a twelvemonth since, 
When in her eyes I redd what stirr'd the sense 
With a yet unknown pleasure, and the touch 
Of her soft fingers thrill'd through all my nerves, 
Awaking thoughts which had as yet been dreams. 
She '11 send for me ? For Avhat ? For further talk j 
That she may be with me, and I again 
May hear her tremulous tones and tender speech, 
1* 



10 UGO DA ESTE 



And in her pretexts to detain me read 
What she in turn, in my averted eyes, 
And burning cheek and stammering tongue, too well 
Must gather. 'T is delirium ! And, God, 
What horrible sin it is in me, in her, 
To obey that longing of the hungry heart 
Which urges us together ! To what end ? 
Shall I be easier after ? or will she ? 
I will not stay. We must not meet again, — 
Not where there are no eyes but God's to watch us. 

[Exit 



Scene II. 



A gallery^ with a loindow. Zoese 

standing in the embrasure^ leaning ijensiveJy 

on the frame. He comes, thoughtfully, forward. 

Zoe. It must be so. How many doubtful things 
Rise now to mind, which, in those better days 

Ere I was parcel-mad to love this Death I 

That I should so commit myself! She holds 
My life on her breath. But haply I do hers. 
For I remember well what, in those days 
When I was wiser, had for me no sense. 
My eyes are sharper now and see the signs 



ACT I. SC. 2. 11 



In their true meaning. There is that between 

The Count and his proud stepdame Who comes yon ' 

[looking up the gallery. 
'T is Aloinda ! and my soul revolts 
From her familiar charms. [Going^ — pauses. 

Yet may I use her 
To serve my purpose. 

Enter Aloinda. 

Aloinda ! What ! 
Wilt thou not take my hand ? Thou silly wench ! 
I am not tired of thee. 

Alain. Time was once 
Thou 'dst not have us'd those words, Zoese. 

Zoe. Nay, 
'Tis thou art captious, not myself am rude. 
Dry up those water-drops, and let me hug thee. 
You women think we men when once entrapp'd 
Must lie forever in your laps. Yet love 
Has his four seasons, like the air around us. 
The snow is melting from me now. Then smile 
That the warm spring is toward, [kisses her. 

But hark thee, child. 
When our lord comes from Milan, — and thou know'st 
We look for him by the hour, — it needs must be 
Thou wilt not find me always at thy beck. 

So, if thou 'rt lonely But our mistress too, 

Is she not lonely while our lord's away ? 

I would be sworn she is dull at times as thou. 



12 UGO DA ESTE 



Moping, and sighing, if not quite in tears. 
Is 't not so, minion ? 

Aloin. Partly, and at times. 
My lord is too inconstant that his lady 
Should much bewail his absence. 

Zoe. Yet he loves her, 
She once was fond of him. 

Aloin. Indeed is still. 
I have seen her by the hour with cheek on hand 
Sit lost in thought. 

Zoe. What, lately ? Art thou sure 
'T was lately ? since this visit to the Duke ? 
Alain. Nay, I bethink me now, before my lord 

Went on this journey, months and months ago, 
I mark'd the same abstraction. Sometimes too, 
Thus yesterday, I found her bath'd in tears. 
Zoe. All from this loneliness ? 

Aloin. And the amours, 
It may be — but I know not — of our lord. 
Zoe. Lonely, and so surrounded ! In a court 
Whereof she is the centre — giving rays 
To all around, yet void herself of heat ! 
It is not loneliness. And there 's the Count, 
In whose society she takes such joy, — 
Though 't was not always so. 

Aloin. And is not now. 
She is his stepdame still. But this to speak 
Reminds me of my duty. I was sent 
To call him to the Marchioness. 



ACT I. SC. 2. 13 



Zoe. For what? - 
Why he was with her in the Eastern Hall 
A brief while since. 

Aloin. And thence it is I come, 
Having sought him there. 

Zoe. By her desire ? 

Ahin. By hers. 
What is there strange in that ? Why art thou dumb ? 

[^Zoe. still absorbed in thought. 
Adieu, Zoese ; I must seek the Count. 
Zoe. Stay. Thou dost know I love thee, Aloinda ? 

Aloin, I fain would think so. But 

Zoe. I have been cold. 
I did avow it, and as frankly said 

'T is springtime with me now. Wouldst have, my girl, 
That season turn to summer, and at once? 
Place me where I can hear them, and observe 
This meeting. 

Aloin. 'Tvvixt my lady and the Count? 
I dare not. For what purpose ? 

Zoe. What to thee 
My purpose, if thou dar'st not. Say I feel 
An itch to know what is between the two : 
Art thou made wiser ? 

Aloin. Scarce by that reply. 
But thou mean'st something more. Thou dost impute 
Wrong to my lady. 

Zoe. Say I do ; what then ? 
Tt is my duty, if I think there 's wrong, 



14 UGO DA ESTE 



To expose it for my good lord's sake. Thou canst, 
Canst thou not ? aid me. 

Aloi7i. Not in this. Thou think'st, 
Like all men who have found one woman frail, 
There is none chaste. I dare avouch, who know, 
My lady is as innocent as I. 
Zoe. Perhaps. Thou wilt not aid me then ? 

Aloin. I dare not. 
Zoe. Wonder not therefore, if thou find me cold : 
I can reciprocate. [Goiiig. 

Aloin. Zoese — stay. 
Will nothing else content thee ? 

Zoe. Naught but this. 
I ofFer'd for this trifle all my love. 
I know now how thou count'st it. 

Aloin. Speak not so. 
I would do aught to please thee. But this act, 
It is so wrong, so perilous. 

Zoe. The wrong, 
The peril are both mine. Thou art not ask'd 
To share in either. 

Aloin. Thou wilt then conceal, 
In any case, my service ? 

Zoe. Why reveal it ? 
It would not stead me. 

Aloin. And thou wilt not stay 
Longer than needful ? 

Zoe. Am I quite a fool ? 
Aloin. And — and — Zoese, thou wilt 



ACT I. SC. 2. 15 



Zoe. Evermore 
Be thy most humble servant ? Silly child ! 
AVhile thou art so obliging can I else ? [kissing Jier^ 
Aloin. Indeed thy coldness chill' d me to the heart. 
Zoc. The frost-time new is over. — Lead the way. — 
Henceforth thou shalt have summer. 

Alain. Follow quick. 

[Exeunt. 



16 UGO DA ESTE 



Act the Second 

Scene I. The Court of the Castle. 

Ugo. Lionello. 

Lion. Thou hast lost the game because thou wast so dull : 
Thou play'st at all times better than I do, — 
Even for thy lightness, and that happy mood 
Which now thou lackest. 

Ugo. Having caught thy own. 
Lion. No, by St. George ! that is no mood of mine. 
Do I smile so ? 

Ugo. Thou dost not smile at all. 
Lion. Rarely, perhaps ; but never in that wise. 

See now ! thy head droops and thy eyes are fix'd 
On something that has no existence here. 

So twice amid our game He hears me not. 

Ugo! 
Ugo. What is 't? What saidst thou, Lionello ? 
Lion. Not that thou art in love ; though these be signs, 
According to the love-learn'd. 

Ugo. What I pray? 

[hoTcing uneasily up the Coti/rt 



ACT II. SC. 1. 11 



Lion. That reddening cheek for one. Why surely now, 

[following ivith his own the direction of Ugo's eyes. 
'T is not fair Aloinda ? 

Enter Aloinda. 

Have a care ! 
Thou hast a rival there. 

Aloin. My lord the Count, 
The Marchioness entreats to see you briefly. 
Ugo. Yes, yes. — For w^hat? \_with sudden gloom. 

Aloin. About the horse she gave. 

Ugo. That cannot be ; it is but now [checking himself 

and recovering.'] Yes, yes. 
My dutiful regard present, and say 
I '11 come on the instant. 

Aloin. In the blue room east 
My lady sits. Shall I await, my lord. 
To show you thither? 

Ugo. No. [Exit Aloin. 

Enter Priest. 

Priest. Peace with you, sons. 
Lion. For one of us 't is needed, holy father. 

That is the Count. Thou seest, he is sore perplex'd. 

T doubt he is in love with Aloinda. 

But love 's a question never reach' d by thee. 
Ugo. With that grave face thou 'dst never think he jested ; 



18 UGO DA ESTE 



But Lionello has had luck to-day. 

Hence his good-humor, [^Exit^ ivith a slow and reluctant 
step, after Aloinda. 

Enter, from the opposite direction, 

CONTKARIO. 

Lion. Thus we may suppose 

That twice being beaten Ugo is made sad. 

But truly, father, he was so before. 

Once when I threw the ball, he let it hit him 

Full on the breast, he was so lost in thought. 
Priest. I too have mark'd this sadness for some days. 
Contr. [joining them.] Is 't of the Count you speak ? 

Priest. It is. And thou, 

Messer Uguzion', hast thou not noted 

This change of mood ? 

Contr. But slightly, and at times. 

The Court is dull now. With my lord's return, 

Revive its splendor and the Count's gay mood. 
Priest. Our lord is hourly look'd for, is he not? 
Contr. I ride forth soon to meet him. Come, young sir, 

Wilt thou not take to horse and join me ? 

Lion. Grladly. 
Contr. There will be stirring times for thee anon. 

Pomp and high festival, when Padua gives, 

Under the goodly auspice of our liege, 

Her tournament in Venice for the Doge. 

I look to see thee break a lance or two 



ACT n. sc. 2. 19 



In gay St. Mark's, with that strong arm of thine, 
Messer Lionello, for some dame's bright eyes. 
Father, adieu. 

Priest. Adieu, and bless you, sons. 
[Exeunt, Lion, and Contr. one way. the Priest another. 



Scene II. 

A private chamber in the Castle. 

Parisina, 
walking to and fro uneasily. 

Paris. Not yet ? not yet ? — What, if he should refuse 
To come at all ? That cannot be ! I redd 
In his own eyes, his speech, his changing cheek, 
His very dread to look on me, be with me, 
That yearning of the soul which burns in me 
Like fire in my heart's blood. He must come. 

If he come not ! Oh God ! and if he come, 

What is my purpose ? I have none — none else 
Than to behold him, hear him, be once more 
Beside him ere my lord returns. My lord ? 
His sire ! {covering her face ivith her hands. 
Oh horrible ! — 

Too late ! too late ! 



20 UGO DA ESTE 



If it were death — as 't is deserving death — 

To see thee, dearest Ugo, in the hope 

To make the opinion certain that thou — lov'st me, 

Which but to think, which but to name in thought, 

Makes my heart sick with pleasure, — if t were death, 

I 'd spring to meet it. 'T is — it is — his step ! 

Ugo! 

Enter Ugo. 

Parisina hastens to him. Ugo stands 

emharrassed and dejected. 

Ugo. Madonna, [slowly. 

Paris. Is it thus thou meet'st me ? 
How cold thou art ! 

Ugo. Madonna — thou didst send 

[PauseSj emharrassed. 
Paris. Didst thou not know I 'd send ? thou wast prepar'd. 

I told thee I should send. Didst thou not wait? 
Ugo. Alas ! 

Paris. What means that heart-cry of distress ? 

Oh Ugo ! I had thought [Pauses, looking on him 

tearfully. 
Ugo. What didst thou think ? [turning 
away his eyes. 
Paris. Think ? — That I was not sole in my despair ; 
That thou didst sympathize, didst suffer with me ; 
That the sharp longing which gnaws in my heart — 
That vacancy which like a burning coal 



ACT II. SC. 2. 21 



Dries up my blood and marrow, daily, nightly, 
Till it is fill'd, as now that thou art near — 
That thou didst feel this too. — 

Ugo. Heaven! Madonna — 
Think where thou art, think what thou art ! 

Paris. Yes, yes, 
I know : I am thy father's wife, thy stepmother. 

[Wringing her hands^ and laughing hysterically. 
Ugo. Hush ! hush ! In pity, for thy own sake, hush ! 
I thought I heard a movement in yon chamber, 
There on my right, 

Paris. There is no danger, none. 
The door is lock'd. But I will be more calm. 
Ugo. Yes, yes ; for this is frightful. Thou didst send 
To speak with me about the barb. 

Paris. The barb ? 
Who told, thee that ? 

Ugo. 'T was Aloinda. 

Partis. True, 
I gave that reason. 'T was for her, not thee. 
Ugo. 'T was then of Lionello thou wouldst speak. 
Thou saidst thou 'dst show my danger. 

Pa7ns. Sit then down. 
Ugo. Ask me not to be seated. Let us stand. 

It is — it is 

Palis. Why mince the word ? Thou think'st 
It is thus safer, [smiling sadly. 

Ugo. Seated, we might lose 
The thought of time. Thus standing, I am warn'd 



22 UGO DA ESTE 



To make this meeting brief for both our sakes. 
What of my brother ? 

Paris, [abstracted! I/.] Of — thy — brother. — Yes. 
Why wilt thou call him brother ? him, the fruit 
Of an amour with Stella d' Assassino, 
While thou wast lawfiil-l)orn of Gighola, 
High daughter of Francesco da Carrara, 
The lord of Padua.'' 

Ugo. Thou hast forgotten, 
My sire himself comes from an unbless'd bed. 
Paris. No. And the lawful ruler of this realm, 
The lawfully begotten Marquis, Azzo, 
How fared he with thy misbegotten sire ? — 
Look not displeas'd ; I speak but for thy good. — 
Driven from his throne, and banish'd into Crete, 
Where he liv'd wretchedly. And such may be 
Thy fate from Lionello. 

Ugo. Lady, no. 
Thou dost not know him. 

Paris. And dost thou ? He wears 
At all times that grave mask, and speaks few words 
From imptilse ; and who know him best declare 
He is high-soul' d, aspiring, brave. 

Z^'jo. Those traits 
Are not deem'd vices, lady. 

Paris. But may prove 
The elements of danger, when he comes 
With foreign help to oust thee from thy rights, 
As Xiccolo did Azzo. Thou hast heard 



ACT II. SC. 2. 



How the Yenetians and the Bolognese 

And Paduans help'd thy sire. They may again, 

Or other powers, aid his spurious heir 

Against the true one. Precedents still tempt 

That lust to imitate so strong in man. 

And once I heard one practis'd in state-art, 

My sire I mean, pronounce this phrase: that men 

Are everywhere so prone to covet change, 

The spirit of revolt, however wild. 

Causeless or hopeless, never lacks support. 

Heed what I say. 

Ugo. I do, but cannot think 

It touches Lionello. 

Paris. Wilt not think. 

Thou art thyself so generous, thou deem'st 

All men are like thee, [loohmg at him fondly. 

Thou wilt learn anon. 
Ugo. How shouldst thou know, who art younger than myself?^ 
Paris. Women see better into men than men. 

Then, my — regard for thee has clear'd my eyes. 

Thou wilt be careful ? Thou at least wilt keep 

Thy secrets from him ? Thus, thou wilt not say 

How I have favor'd thee, nor fill his ear 

With my Avild sorrow ? 

Ugo. Have I earn'd this doubt ? 

Was it a child or fool then thou did'st favor ? 

Could I have known I stood thus in thine eyes, 

It would have sav'd me terrible remorse. 
Pai'is. Forgive me I But thou art so fond of him, 



24 UGO DA ESTE 



Forever with him. I should not have spoken. 
It M'as a flying thought — a woman's terror, 
Startled at shadows she herself creates. 
Forgive me, Ugo. [taking his hand. 

How thy fingers tremble ! ' 
Why dost thou snatch them from me ? look aside ? 
Do not despise me, Ugo ! do not — do not ! 

[sohhing, cover's he?' face with her hands. 
Ugo. Despise thee? Madonna! [taking one of her hands; 

then drops it suddenly. 
Paris. Let me then 
Lean on thy shoulder thus. It hides my shame, 
And is such bliss for me ! It may l^e well 

The last time that we meet thus ; and thy sire 

Ugo. [breaking from her. 

Oh God ! 't is well reminded. Let me go. 
Hold not my hand. Madonna. It is madness. 
Thou art my father's wife ; and I must hence, 
Before destruction overtakes us both. 
Paris. One moment, Ugo ! 

Ugo. No, while I am sane — 
Ere thou hast taken from me all remorse, 
And shame, and fear. 

Paris. Say only thou dost Say 

But thou art sorry — to — to 

Ugo. Can I say 
More than I have implied in look and word ? 
Wicked in both, as I am in my thoughts 
Horribly criminal. Let us part at once — 



ACT II. SC. 3. 25 



Now and forever. [Goi7ig. 

Paris. Yes — yes — now. And bless thee I 
I am not now alone ; thou lov'st as I. 

[Njcit Ugo. Parisina weeping 
bitterli/j under her hands. 



Scene III. 

The Gallery J as in Act I. So. II. 

Aloinda. 
ZoESE, entering hurriedly. 

Aloin. What hast thou seen ? What hast thou heard ? Thou 

look'st 

As though thou wast delighted. Can that be ? 

Zoe. [to himself^ exidtingly^ clenching his hand, and about to pass 

Aloinda. 

I have her now. Still, henceforth, as the grave. — 

Why dost thou stop me ? 

Aloin. Speak'st thou thus to me ? 

Art thou beside thyself? With joy, or what? 

Zoe. With nothing. I am only in great haste. 
Vol. II— 2 



26 UGO DA ESTE 



Aloin. Thou hast seen something, thou hast heard. 

Zoe. Perhaps. 
Aloin. Whom didst thou threaten ? 

Zoe. No one. 

Aloin. Thou didst say, 

Thou hadst her now. Thou didst not mean the ? 

Zoe. [putting Ms hand to her lips.'] Hush! 
Thy ears deceiv'd thee. 

Aloin. No, nor do my eyes. 
Thou hast some mighty secret. 

Zoe. [after a pause, a7id regard- 
ing her gravely.'] Aloinda, 
I promis'd thee, the peril of my act, 
Its guilt, thou shouldst not share. My secret then, 
If I have any, let me keep, myself. 
My words forget ; they in no wise concern thee, 
And might, remember'd, bring thee unto harm. 
If falsely constru'd. But adieu awhile ; 
My lord by this time must be near the gates : 
My function will not suffer me to tarry. [ Going. 
Aloin. And no more thanks ? 

Zoe. yes, this brief embrace, [Exit. 
Aloin. And this that summer-time of love he promis'd! 
Thus men reward us when we give them all. 
Forget thy words ? They were too strange for that. 

If they betoken malice to my lady 

I have done one wrono-. But it shall end with this. 



ACT III. SC. 1. 27 



Act the Third 

Scene I. As in Act II. Sc. II. 

Parisina. 

Paris. Nearer and nearer ! In an hour perhaps — 
In less — the echo of his horse's hoofs 
Will sound upon my heart. It is the knell 
To all my joy, my peace of mind forever. — 
And Ugo will ride out to meet the train. 
I must behold him once again — I must ! 

[rings a hand-hell. 
Before the light goes with him, and the night 
Without a star shuts-in my soul. That night ! 
'T were better for me were it of the grave ; 
Better for both of us. This craving void, 
This hunger of the heart that gnaws unceasing, 
And most when newly fed on what it craves, 
What shall appease it ? Yet I must, I must, 
Once more be with him, ere it is too late. 
Perhaps even now it is too late ! perhaps 
He is gone already ! gone to meet my death I 

Enter Aloinda. 

Go Aloinda ; quickly ; tell the Count 

I must have speech with him before he starts. 



28 UGO DA ESTE 



Aloin. [reluctantly] Madonna — 

Paris. Is he gone then ? is he gone ? 

Aloin. The Count has not yet mounted. But 

Paris. How now ? 
Didst thou not hear me ? I would speak, I said, 
With the Count on the instant. 

Aloin. Yes, Madonna, but 

Forgive me. [A-neefe.] Do not bid me go to him. 
Paris. What thi^eatens ? What has happen'd ? Woman, speak! 

Aloin. Nothing that 'T is my fear for you. Zoese 

Paris. Zoese — and thy fear for me ? Presumptuous ! 

Wliat hast thou done ? what dar'd ? Speak out ! speak all. 
Tears will not answer me. 

Aloin. Be not angiy, pray. 
Tou frighten me, Madonna. I but fear'd, 

Zoese 

Paris. Fear thou for Zoese's self. 
I have suspected for some time thy fondness 
For that base wretch. What has he dar'd to say ? 
Aloin. 'T was but a word. Madonna. Make me not 
Betray him. 'T was alone for your dear sake, 
My honor'd and lov'd lady, that I spoke. 
I may have fancied danger. Madonna, 

Send me not to the Count again ! Zoese 

Paris, [passionately. 

Is a lewd villain. I could tell of that 
Would ruin him in thy eyes, and with my lord 
Put him in instant peril of his life. 
Let him beware, foul traitor ! Thou, begone. 



ACT III. SC. 2. 29 



Send me my gentleman. He shall, instead, 
Carry my message to the Count. Away ! 

\_Exit. — Aloinda in 
the opposite direction^ lueeping. 



Scene II. 

^.9 in Act I. Sc. I. 

Miter simultaneous! y J hut from different sides^ 
ZoESE and Aloinda. 

She makes towards him. He is about to avoid her, 
hut suddenly goes towards her. 

Zoe. Why, thou art bath'd in tears ! What hath betid ? 
Aloin. My lady order'd me to call the Count 
Again to her. 

Zoe. So soon ! So hot ! The ! Well ? 

Aloin. I show'd reluctance; for thy words, Zoese, 
Had fill'd me with vague terror. 

Zoe. Well? 

Aloin. Displeas'd, 
She bid me call her gentleman. 

Zoe. In sooth, 
A very proper Better he than thou : 



30 UGO DA ESTE 



Nature design'd him for it. Was 't for that — 
Envy of his nice function, or because 
Thy lady was displeas'd, thine eyes be wet? 
Thou weep'st too easily. Now, had she beat thee, 
Or in her passion sought to tear those eyes, 

Grudging their brightness 

Aloin. Thou wilt cease to mock, 
When thou hear'st all. 'T was not my lady's wrath — 
Though, hadst thou seen her haughty look, Zoese, 
Her lips curl'd up Avith scorn, and glittering eyes 

Widely dilated 

Zoe. I have seen it all. 
I mean — elsewhere. All know her passionate blood, 
And pride like Lucifer's. But this hot wrath 
Had surely other cause. 

Aloin. Ah yes, 'twas thou. 

Zoe. 'Me ? She did not? Thou didst not, Aloiuda, 

Tell what had pass'd between us ? 

Aloin. Surely, no. 
But, in my trouble and dismay, thy name 
Escap'd my lips. 

Zoe. Ha ! And she said ? — What said she ? 
A loin. Must I tell all ? She bid thee to beware. 
For she knew what would ruin thee with me, 
And put thy life in peril with thy lord ? 
Why art thou silent ? 

Zoe. Seeking for a cause, 
But find none — other than, that she is mad. 
But tarry not, nor chafe her in this mood. 



ACT III. SC. 2. 31 



Seek with all haste Messer Aldrovandino : 
1 11 talk with thee anon. \^Exit Aloinda. 

But not of this. — 
Now, 't is a game of death and hfe between us, 
Thou haughty lady. And 't is I shall win. 
I meant to use thy secret for my need ; 
That I might bind thy lips, and in thy sin 
Find palliation for my grave delict, 
And amorous advantage. But thou wilt not. 
Thou art so steel'd with pride, and thy hot blood, 
Distemper'd with incestuous passion, swells 
Thy heart so big with daring, my firm plans 
Break into bubbles. Love that smooth-cheek'd boy, 
Thou virtuous wanton, that wast mad with scorn 
That I durst love thee ! love thy husband's son ! 
Tempt him, who is as rash and weak as thou. 
Knowing the right and wishing to be good, 
Yet strengthless to achieve it, tempt the boy ; 
And when he falls, look to thyself and him ! 
The sky is black with thunder, and I see 
Even now the flash that shall avenge my shame 
And by your common ruin rescue me.* 

[Exit. 



32 UGO DA ESTE 



Scene III. 

A room of Ugd's Apartment in the Castle. 

Ugo 

seen at a tahle^ leaning with his head in 
both his hands. His plumed cap is on the tahle. 

Enter Ran gone. 

He, hoivs profoundly at the door 

and waits, hut is unnoticed — approaches the tahle with 

more noise and hoivs again as before. 

Ugo. [slowly lifting his head. 

What is thy will, Messer Aldrovandino ? 
Rang, [again bowing. 

The lady Marchioness, my lord the Count, 
Desires the favor of your lordship's presence 
For a brief space. 

Ugo. Again ? I mean What, now ? 

Rang. If my lord please. Before my lord the Count 
Rides forth to meet my lord the Marquis. 

Ugo. Ah! — 
There is scant time. Thou wilt take back my answer. 
Thy lady must excuse me. I dare not 
Be wanting in this duty. I will come 



ACT III. SC. 8. 33 



On my return. 

Rang. With pardon of my lord, 

The Marchioness would see my lord the Count 

Especially, some brief command to give 

Before his going. 

Ugo. Have my brothers left ? 

Rang. Long since, my lord. Indeed the Marquis, now, 

Our sovereign, must be very nigh the gate. 

Ugo. Ah Heaven ! I have forgot myself. Yet, yet 

'T is not too late. [Rising hastily^ he puts on his cap. 

Rang. My lord then will not come ? 

'T is but a moment — so my lady said. 

She earnestly entreated 

Ugo. Come ? Yes, yes. 

Say I will come, Messer Aldrovandino. 

Rang. Shall I attend my noble lord the Count? 

Ugo. No. Thanks. 

Rang. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. 

Ugo. Come? Come? 

Oh, she is mad ! And I What will my sire 

Deem of my dallying ! But I have no thought 

Now save for her. And she ? Where will this end? 

Each draught of this forbidden joy — this joy 

Which yet is pain, is sadness, is despair — 

Inflames the thirst for more. We must not drink. 

We must dash down the cup, or thirst till death. 

that my sire had come before we tasted ! 

that he now were here ! that this great sin 

Might stand where it is now, but in the thought. 
2* 



34 UGO DA ESTE 



Act the Fourth, 

Scene I. As in Ad I. Sc. I, 

Enter the Marquis, 

attended hy La Sale, Contrario, Lionello, 

BoRSO. ZoESE, following at a distance. 

Marq Faithful La Sale ! with thy weight of years 
Thou 'rt nimbler in thy welcome than some be 
Whose nearer tie might challenge their young limbs 
To readier service. Why appears not yet 
Our Marchioness ? 

Contr. My lord perhaps has come 
Earlier than look'd for; and the joyous cries 
That hail'd his safe return might not have reach'd 
Her distant chambers. But the grateful news 
Must now have bless'd our lady, and we soon 
Shall see her here, 

Marq. Why was the County Ugo 
Not with your train ? Where is he now ? 

Lion. My lord, 
I join'd Messere Uguzion. Borso staid 
To ride with Ugo. 

Borso. And I found him wrapt 
In gloomy meditation, seeming lost 



ACT IV. SC. 1. 35 



To all external things. He bade me mount 
"Without him ; he would follow in brief time. 
Marq. I fear the boy is ill. But, gentlemen, 
Thanking I will dismiss you. My fatigue 
Makes, with the dust of travel, privacy 
More needful than lov'd faces. [Exeunt, La Sale 

and Contrario. 
Lionello, 
Gro thou to Ugo. If not too unwell, 
Bid him attend me. Else, see that he hath 
The needful service, and I '11 go to him. 
Zoese, wait. [Exeunt Lion, and Borso. 

Now, what hast thou to say ? 
Thou hast sought my eyes with thy uneasy looks 
Three several times, and ventur'd upon signs 
Of anxious haste to speak to me. What means 
This mystery ? 

Zoe. My lord — my duty 

Marq. Quick ! 
Dispense with all professions ; and be brief. 
Zoe. May I then claim beforehand from my lord 
His pardon for the dreadful news I bring ? 
Marq. Pardon ? and dreadful ? Thou didst look at me 
With glances of strange meaning, when our speech 
Was of thy mistress and my son the Count. 
Is it of them, thy news ? 

Zoe. My lord — it is. 
Marq. Wretch ! dar'st thou ? 

Zoe. Nothing, that will not bear proof. 



36 UGO DA ESTE 



I have weigh'd the risk with duty ; and I take it, 
For my lord's honor. 

Marq. Thou dar'st not imply ? 

Speak ! or I'll strangle thee. 

Zoe. My lord well knows 
The Marchioness at first dishk'd the Count, 
Then took him into favor. 

Marq. On thy life ! 
To the point at once ! 

Zoe. They now are lock'd together 
In the blue chamber of the eastern wing. 

Marq. Liar ! — But no, thou wouldst not dare How came 

This thought to thee ? 

Zoe. Her gentleman was sent 
To call the Count, the lady of her Chamber 
Having refus'd, — this she averr'd to me, — 
A second time to serve her in that way. 
Marq. Villain ! and is this all ? 

Zoe. My lord, my life 
Rests on the fact. See for yourself; and then 
Punish the guilty, me or them. 

Marq. But how ? 
Zoe. I have the key which locks the adjoining room. 
There is a door between. 

Marq. And thou hast us'd it? 
Zoe. My lord, I not deny it. But for that use, 
To which what I had heard and seen already 
Prompted me as a duty, Avere unknown 
That which, even now, my lord himself may see 



ACT IV. SC. 2. 37 



Through the lock's aperture. 

Marq. Lead then the way. 
If thou hast wrong-'d them, ere the set of sun 
Thy head shall feed the ravens. 

Zoe. Quickly then. 
They may ere this have parted. But if there, 
My lord will have assurance of their guilt. 

Marq. And if I do not ! Mark ! thy life or theirs. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene II. 

As in Act II. Sc. II. 

Ugo. Parisina. 

Paris. Go not, dear Ugo! 't is so little while 
Thou hast been here. 

Ugo. Forget'st thou, dear Madonna, 
Why we should part? My brothers both have gone 
To welcome-in my sire. What must he think, 
Not seeing me with them ? 

Paris. There is yet full time. 

Ugo. No, Borso, waiting for me, came to me 
Before Rangone sought me, and I promis'd 
To follow straight. We lose the flight of time 



38 UGO DA ESTE 



While thus together. Should my sire return 

Heavens ! what were he in the Castle now ? 
Paris. Thy fears confound thee. We should hear the cries 
Of those who welcome him, perhaps like us 
Hating his coming, and the horses' hoofs 
Resounding in the courtyard. 

Ugo. No, not so. 
We are too distant, and our throbbing hearts 
Would deaden to our minds all other sounds. 
Madonna, if I fear, 't is not alone 
For my own honor, for my life perhaps, 
But oh, far more for thine. Why should I stay ? 
We miist part — now. Think only where thou art. 
And what thou art, Madonna. 

Paris. I but think 
That thou art with me, Ugo, and but dread 
To lose thee now forever. 

Ugo. Ay, forever. 
Thou didst protest, Madonna, when I came, 
It was to be the last time, promis'd me 
Thou wouldst not seek again what is such sin 
Even to long for. 

Paris. Yet, save in the thought, 
How are we guilty ? Can it be such sin, 
That we, of kindred age, and kindred hearts. 
Should feel this passion ? which we not create, 
Ourselves, and cannot at a voice make cease, 
Because that voice is reason's or is honor's. 
More than we can the other natural longings, 



ACT IV. SC. 2. 89 



Our hunger and our thirst. 

Ugo. speak not thus! 
Enough that we are guilty in the thought. 
Let us not stifle conscience, nor ourselves 
Court new temptations which we should eschew. 
Let me, for thy own sake, for mine, and, dare I say, 
My lord my father's, let me go. Farewell ! 
Pai'is. Ugo ! 

Ugo. Madonna? 

Paris. 'T is the first, last time. 

She puts up her lips to him^ and they embrace. 

As they part, Parisina sohhing, 

Enter, 

hurriedly and luith dismay in her looks, 

Aloinda. 

Paris, [at first, haughtily. 

How now ? What means this ? [checks herself, 

ohserving Aloinda''s looks. 
But — What is there wrong ? 
Is my lord come ? 

Aloin. worse, worse, worse, Madonna ! 
You are betray'd. He stands now in yon room, 
Seeing and hearing all. I saw Zoese, 
Some minutes since, on tiptoe, lead him thither. 
I know not what is wrong, but I am come, 
At peril of my life, soon as I durst, 
To give you warning. 



40 UGO DA ESTE 



Paris. Thanks, kind Aloinda. 
I do repent me of my hasty speech, [eoctending her hand. 
Aloin. [kissing it, and weeping. 

Mind me not, dear my lady. 

Paris. Leave us now. 

[Mcit Aloin. 
Ugo, it is our death. Why art thou pale ? 
Fear'st thou ? 

Ugo. Not death, Madonna : not for me. 
But oh this shame ! my sire — my brothers — thou ! 
Paris. Yet we are innocent — save in having lov'd, 
And in perhaps the fiery thought of that 
Which passion in the blood will prompt to all. 
But which is only crime with those who yield. 
As we have not. Yes, now indeed we part. 
And part forever. Even if life be spar'd us, 
Yet shut in prison for perhaps all time, 
Never again to view thee, Ugo — never ! 
that we both were dead ! 

Ugo. that we were ! 
Paris. Yet thou wilt think of me when in thy dungeon, 

And dying breathe my name, as I shall thine. 
Ugo. Yes, yes, Madonna. 

Paris. Call me, call me once 
By my own name, as I call thee, dear Ugo. 
Let me hear those lov'd hps, since now indeed 
We must be parted, speak as those that love. 
Lov'st thou me, Ugo ? 

Ugo. Ever, Parisina. 



ACT IV. SC. 3. 41 



Pans, [clinging to him convulsively^ and sobbing. 

ISTow then — now then — once more. [Putting up 
her lips as before. They embrace 
passionately and part.'] God ! 

Ugo. Forever ! 
[Exit hurriedly. 
Parisina, sobbing^ remains standing, 
her face buried in her hands. 



Scene ITI. 
As in Act II. Sc. I. 

BORSO. LlONELLO. 

Borso. What is this strange commotion ? All was joy 
A half-hour since. ISTow in each other's face 
Men look inquiringly, and sadly too. 
The Captain of the Guard is call'd in haste, 
With two of his men, to our father. Let us go 
And see what is to do. What ponderest thou ? 

Lion. Is not that, Ugo coming ? 

Borso. Yes ; his eyes 
Are red as if with weeping, and his mien 



42 UGA DA ESTE 

Is strangely troubled. See, he marks us not. 
Lion. And lo, the Captain of the Gruard behind him. 

Enter Ugo : 

After Jmn, the Captain of the Guard. 

As Ugo is about to pass Lionello and Borso, without noticing 

them, the Captain confronts him. 

Capt. My lord the Count, by order of my liege 
The Marquis, I arrest you. 

Ugo. I obey, [delivering his sword. 
Poor Parisina ! [murmured. — Ugo and Capt. pass on. 
Borso [following.] What is his offence ? 
Cajyt. Messer', this is my duty. Aught beyond 
I am not bound to know. 

Borso. Where lead'st thou him? 
Capt. To the Lion's Tower. 

Lion. Ugo, take my hand. 
Capt. Messer', he is forbidden all discourse. 

[Exeunt Ugo and Capt. 
Borso. What, even to us ? 

Lion. Heard'st thou not what he said? 
Borso. " Poor Parisina ! " 'T is our lady's name ! 
Lion. Now art thou answer'd as to what I ponder' d. 

Borso. Thou didst not then suspect ? 

Lion. No, I remember'd — 
And weigh'd the past with what I saw this morn. 
Borso. And thmk'st thou him then guilty ? 

Lion. Of tlie crime 



ACT IV. SC. 3. 43 



That lies in flagrant act ? No more than thou ; 
But of an ardent love between the two. 
I have seen what now I reason on, and draw 
Conviction from what once scarce woke a thought. 

Enter Contrario, 
from the side at ivhich Ugo and Captain have disappeared. 

Contr. Alas, young sirs, I need not ask your theme. 

The Count has pass'd you. 

Lion. And the Marchioness ? 
Contr. Has likewise been arrested, and Rangone, 

And both her women. Already sits the court 

That will pronounce and sentence. 

Lion. In such haste ? 
Contr. Our liege your sire is furious, and will hear 

Of no delay. — Permit me: I am summon'd. 
Lion, [detainiyig him. 

One word — and for us solely. Dost thou deem 

Poor Ugo guilty ? 

Contr. Scarce two hours ago, 

We were discoursing of his sadden'd mood. 

'T was, we now see, the sadness of a lover. 

But in the first stage of an innocent love. 

There has been as yet no indulgence of the blood. 

Or, in the alter'd and corrupted visage. 

The wasted cheek, the darken' d and sunk eye, 

We should have redd it, as those other signs. 

The Count, I do believe, is pure in body, 



44 UGO DA ESTE 



However in the soul he may have sinn'd. 
I must pass on. God help us to a verdict 
Righteous at once and mercifuL {Exit, hurriedly. 
Borso. 



Amen ! [Exeunt, sloiuly^ 
in same direction. 



The Drop falls. 



ACT V. SC. 1. 46 



Act the Fifth 

Scene I. A Chamber of the Mistress 
of the Wardrobe. 

Enter Filippa : 
ZoESE, following reluctantly. 

Zoe. Why hast thou brought me hither ? Speak : and quick. 
Filip. Why art thou sad and sullen ? 

Zoe. What to thee ? 
Filip. I 'd have thee joyful, now thy cause and mine 
Are both aveng'd. 

Zoe. My cause and thine ! Art mad ? 
Filip. In silence, now for more than twenty years, 
I have watch'd thee, with such love as only she 
Who bore thee in her body, and who fed thee 
From her own breasts could feel. 

Zoe. What dost thou mean ? 
Who art thou ? 

Filip. Who but she, Zoese, 
Who bore thee in her body and who fed thee 
From her own breasts ? 

Zoe. My mother? my God! 



40 UGO DA ESTE 



Filip. Does it then grieve thee ? 

Zoe. Who my father then ? 

Filip. Who but our lord the Signor of Ferrara ? 

Zoe. Woman ! is this then real ? Dar'st thou mock 
At my distress, and in a time like this ? 

Filip. At thy distress ? Why, was it not thy hand 
That led thy sire to where he might behold 
The impudent harlot who usurps my place 
Wanton with his own son, thy younger brother ? 

Zoe. Stop ! thou wilt drive me mad. Is 't not enough 
They are doom'd to death within this very hour, 
With all who were thought to abet them in their crime ? 
And that through me? No more! Prove what thou 

say'st. 
Why hast thou kept this secret until now ? 
Why now reveal it ? 

Filip, Ere thou saw'st the light, 
The Marquis wedded his first spouse, the dam 
Of this incestuous Count. The high-born wretch — 
I hate her memory even now — was proud 
And fiercely jealous. Hence it was my lord. 
In his own interest, and perhaps for mine, 
Engag'd me to conceal thy birth alike 
And our amour. His bounty, always large, 
Made my faith easy, as this spar'd my shame. 
Time pass'd. Strange hands had rear'd thee. Not to 

know thee 
Was grown a habit and cost no more pain. 
Hence, when in after days I saw thee here, 



ACT V. SC. 1. 47 



Well-plac'd and prosperous, I had blush'd to claim thee, 

Even had I dar'd. 

Zoe. And through this pride and shame, 

This avarice, woman, if thy tale be true. 

Thou hast foul'd my soul with murder, with the blood 

Of my own father's son, shed for a crime 

Wherein I envied him. 

Filip. What ! thou didst love 

Zoe. No, but I envied him, as all men hate 

The joys in others which they love themselves 

But are debarr'd from. If thou be my mother 

Filip. Thou shalt have proof anon. But look thou there. 

My pale shrunk visage and thy fresher face 

Seem, in that mirror, to have had one mould, 

Vary'd but in the casting, — thine more bold. 
Zoe. There is better proof within me. In this heart, 

Where mix his blood and thine, my father's lust 

Throbs with my mother's vengeful ire. But here 

Is something more which neither of them has — 

Repentance and the gnawing of remorse. 

Let me go hence ; the air is hot ; I am stifled. 
Filip. Thou go'st not to betray me ? not to help 

Thy guilty stepdame ? 

Zoe. Help her ? Could I now? 

I would I could ! Betray thee ? And for what ? 

To whom ? Thy lord — my sire ? [laughing bitterly. 

Betray thee, woman ? 

Keep thy accursed secret, if thou be 

Indeed my mother ; not a mother's love, 



48 UGO DA ESTE 



But a bad woman's malice has divulg'd it : 
I never shall betray a being more. 

[Exit^ precipitately. 

FiLiPPA makes a step toward him, as if 
to stop him, but 7'emains standing, fixed in amMzement 
and consternation ; and the Scene 



Scene II. 
The dungeon ivhere Parisina is con^ 
Parisina. Priest. 



Paris. But for a minute ! but for one brief minute ! 

Only that I may hear from his own lips 

That he forgives me his untimely death. 
Priest. Daughter, that may not be. The Count himself 

Pray'd with like earnestness to see his sire, 

That he might beg forgiveness of his crime. 

My lord refus'd. How couldst thou then, daughter. 

Hope for this greater grace ? Nor shouldst thou so. 

Even I, had I the power, should have no will 

To help thee to thy wishes. 

Paris. Take thou then 

To Aloinda all thy ghostly cares ; 



ACT V. SC. 2. 49 

To Aloinda, whom thy despot lord 

Dooms to the axe, though innocent as thou. 

I want them not. 

Priest. This, dangliter, is no mood — 
Paris. To die in ? 'T is to live in. I have learn'd, 
Young as I am, and of a sex you men 
Deem feeble-minded, to arrange my thoughts, 
And weigh my actions for myself; and now, 
In my last hour, my mind is still self-pois'd. 
I not repent me I love Ugo ; no, 
He who condemns us whips his own gross sins 
Over our backs, he, whose whole wedded life 
Has been adulterous, and whose bastard sons 
Swarm in Ferrara. No, my sin has been, 
Not that I love, but that I let my love 
Find utterance, and indulg'd its natural thirst 
To see, and hear, and be with, him I love. 
Till it involv'd its object. For his life, 

for his life, so causelessly condemn'd, 

1 would relinquish, not alone my life, — 

That were as nothing, — but my deathless soul. 

Priest. Daughter ! 

Paris. 'T is true, and would be not less true 
Were it not utter'd. Could I be assur'd, 
Ugo hereafter would be doom'd to wo, 
As I am not, who cannot think that Heaven, 
Like vengeful man, would punish as a crime 
The wandering of the heart, the heat of blood, 
The unstableness of reason, when nought more 
Vol. it.— 3 



50 UGO DA ESTE 

Has been the sin of Ugo, whate'cr mine, 
Could I be sure of thia, and that my soul 
Might make, for his, atonement, I Avould take 
A twofold torture, and so spare him his. 

Priest. Madonna, in tliis mood 

Paris. Xo more ! no more ! 
Go to my lord, and plead for Ugo's life ; 
Plead on thy knees, as I kneel in my heart. 
Remind him that at Ugo's age all men. 
That be ingenuous, are before us women 
Shamefac'd and shy, nor dare to offer lore 
Where they are not invited. Bid him judge, 
Whether a youth like Ugo would have dar'd, 
Would even have thought, to lift eyes of desire 
Unto his father's wife, had she not tempted. 
Do this. Remind him too, what all men know. 
That Ugo's soul is facile to a fault, 
And takes, against the advisement of his reason, 
The shape that others will. Do what thou canst 
To move his sire, as thou mayst safely do, — 
For I protest to that All-conscious One 
Before whose throne I shortly must appear, 
Ugo is guiltless, — and when thou comest back, 
And tell'st me that his sentence is I'emov'd, 
Bid me kneel down, and I Avill gladly pray. 
And make full shrift with an unburden'd heart, 
And, after, lay my head upon the block 
More cheerfull}^ than for long months I have done 
Upon the pillow where repos'd my lord. 



ACT V. SC. 2. 5 J 

Priest. Daughter, what may be done, that will I do ; 
Not for Count Ugo's sake alone, though sui'e. 
From all I have heard, the bloody doom pronounc'd 
Is too severe, but for my liege himself. 
Meanwhile give heed, my daughter, to thy soul. 
Try to subdue this passion of regret, 
This wild despair for him thou hast destroy'd, 
And think on that concerns thee in this hour. 

Paris. Deem'st thou that possible ? But I will try. 

[Exit Priest. 
Try ? With this anguish gnawing in my heart ? 

Ugo ! would that fate which now must be 

1 had forestaU'd, and by my willing death 
Sav'd thee the shame, the horror of this hour ! 
Curse me not, Ugo ! Kneel not unto God 

Without one word for me ! They have shorn th}^ locks 
That the axe may cut sheer ! They force thee down, 
Thy pale face to the block ! Help ! save him ! save him I 
Kill me ! kill me ! I onl}^ am to blame ! 

[^Falls senseless. 



52 UGO DA ESTE 



Scene III. 

A roo7n in the Marquis s Apartments. 

Marquis. 
La Sale. Contrario. 

Marq. These reasons not suffice. Think ye, my friends, 

That what your hearts might whisper would not plead 
Loudly to mine, a father's ? If young blood, 
Temptation, and thai weakness of the will 
Which perils virtue, be a plea for crime. 
Who shall stand guilty ? 

La Sale. Who, my liege, escape, 
Where nothing palliates ? Sufler me to pray. 
Here on my knees, — kneel thou too down, with me, 
Messer Uguzion, — that you would regard — 
Pardon, my lord ! the honor of your name. 
For more than twice a hundred years your House, 
Princes before, are sovereign in Ferrara ; 
Nor has the Marquisate in all that time 
Been ever spotted with a crime like this. 
See in these tears, which are men's tears, my liege, 
Not flowing readily, — in mine, I think. 
Not since my mother died, — see in our tears 
The witness of our love, our S'rief, our shame. 



ACT V. SC. 3. 53 



And give us hearing when we humbly pray 
You will not by this public stain of blood 
Connect your name, for all succeeding time, 
With this most heinous wickedness. 

Contr. Dear my liege I 
Yield to our prayers, our tears. Heed good La Sale, 
This Avise and just old man, who never yet 
Has counsel'd falsely. 

Enter Lionello. 

Marq. Rise up, gentlemen. 
Were your plea valid, not your prayers were needed, 
Far less those tears. Your urgence comes too late ; 
The crime once judg'd is bruited to the world, 
And the death-sentence stamps its heinous kind 
Forever, even were it not enforc'd. 
Leave me, good friends. 'T is vain to utter more. 

\_Exeunt La S. and Contr, 
Kow, Lionello ? 

Lion. Let me too, my liege, 
My father, kneel for Ilgo. 

Marq. Hast thou seen 
The virtuous La Sale on his knees. 
By him Contrario, and both denied. 
And hop'st thou to prevail ? 

Lion. ISTot I, but truth, 
But justice. Ugo was seduc'd. I know it. 
I can establish it. 



54 UGO DA ESTE 



Marq. I do believe it 

Without thy proofs. He was seduc'd. — OGod! 

By her who ! Patience ! — Was seduc'd ? What then ? 

It is the plea of half the world in crime. 

And may avail hereafter, but not here. 

Lion. But haply Ugo's crime was not 

Alarq. Enough ! 

Hast thou aught else to ask, that thou awaitest ? 

If so, be quick, and leave me to my wo. 
Lion. I fain, my lord, would see him. May that be ? 
Marq. Ay, 't is my wish. Thou only. Take this ring : 

The wardens will respect it. Bid the boy 

In his last hour remember who he is, 

And bear himself as fits a princely name. 

I shall deplore him, though I may not pardon. 

\_Exit Lionello. 

Enter Priest. 

What now ? Hast thou confess'd them ? 

Priest. But the Count. 

I come to intercede 

Marq. When will this cease ? 
Am I so feeble-minded that thou too 
Shouldst hope to set aside my stern resolve ? 
Priest. Not were it bas'd on justice. 

Marq. Dar'st thou, priest? 
Priest. — In nothing venture to provoke my lord. 
But higher than the reverence he inspires 



ACT V. SO. ?,. 65 



Is that I owe to truth and unto God. 

Hear me. I will be brief. 'T is all but sure, 

And, would my liege but give the time, the proofs 

Might yield full certitude, no actual crime 

Has been committed. 

Marcj[. Hush ! What said the Lord 
Tliy Master ? He who on a woman looks 
To covet her has in his heart already 
Committed the vile act. Where this is done, 
The prelude and propulsion to gross sin, 
What needs to make the corporal guilt complete 
But the enticement of an apt occasion, 
And the hot madness of a lecherous pulse ? 
I saw her in his arms — press'd face to face, — 
Her red lip, pouted toward him, touch'd his own, 
And the unnatural — no, the natural wretch 
Return'd the passion of his father's wife. 
Will the most horrible crime — as even now 
It is most horrible, — will it, when again 
They come together, will the crime stop there ? 
Priest. But separate them ; put them in close cells, 
In yonder towers, if so thou wilt, for aye ; 
But, my lord, stain not thy princely name, 
Stain not the name of Este, with a blood 
That is thy own ! 

Marq. And should I die, what then ? 
What keeps them in the dungeon, when the doors 
That lock them in must yield to his command 
Who then is master ? No, I have search'd my mind, 



56 I'OO DA ESTE 



And pn\y'd to Heaven for guidance. Did I fmd 

l>ne moments doubt, one feeling of remorse, 

'T should eouut for iliem. for Ugo. There is none. 

[waving of ihe Priest, 
Pi'iifst But didst tlioii heai% my lord. Avhat TTgo said ? 
Marq. Xo, nor what yet the abandon'd woman said : 

But I beheld. What mattei-s it, their speech ? 

The act condemns them. 

I^-iest. Pardon me. The Count 

Averr'd it was the last time he would see her. — 
Marq. [interrupting. 

And she, no doubt, responded ro ihis vow. 

After much sobbing and hearl-bivath'd farewells. 

Know we not all, who know what passion is. 

That easier 't is to break the vow than make it ? 

Go to thy cloister, priest ; thou knowe^^t not man. 

Or rather, go prepare him for a fate 

Which nothing but my own death shall avert. [JEjtitj above. 
Priest, [looking aj^er him^ sadly , for a while. 
He who himself is so inexorable. 

How shaR he look for mercy in that day 

When his own crimes are counted ? Men avenge 

Their proper vices on the sins whose seed 

They have themselves implanted in their sons. 

If thou forgive man s trespasses, O God, 

Only as he forgives his fellow here. 

Thy single all-unpardon d crime, poor Ugo. 

WOl scatter to the winds thy sire's last prayers ! 

[£Irif. mournfully. 



ACT V. BC. 4. 5*1 



SCEXE IT, 

An inner chamher of ^le same apartrrient 

Enter Mabquis. 
He pfxnf-ji slowly to ari/l fro. 

Preserdlyj 

EfiUrr ZoESE, from the left. 

Ht rfrrrimns gtandiri/j at the eriirarice. 

Ma rq. Come forward. — ^Vliat want'ijt thou f How pale thoo 
art! 
Hast thou too come to add thy knees to those 
Thy betters bend, who hope tiaat prayers may win 
"What neither justice nor a Other's love 
Can wring from me ? tboa ? 

Z>5. Xo, my lord ; I kno>w, 
That it were useless. 

J/arj. What mean'st thou by tha^t ? 
Zoe. Thy justice is inflexible. 

J/arj. But why 
An -- - ; i' V ' Art thou aflSighted too ? 
Wou 1- - J what thou hast done ? 

Z<^. My lord, 
I Mter not If I am pale, the cause 
Is but my purpose. 



58 UGO DA ESTE 



Marq. Speak, 

Zoe. If I have done 
Service unto my lord, then suffer me 
In the same cause, as recompense, to lead 
My lady to her death. 

Marq. Hast thou no shame ? 
Feel'st thou no pity ? 

Zoe. Much. But more the longin* 
To see her face the headsman. 

Marq. [after a pause.] Be it so. 
Whatever be thy motive, take thy wish. 
Thou shalt observe her, and shalt bring to me 
The frightful story. — Follow, to receive 
The order requisite. Then bid the ushers 
See that no person but th3^<^elf, this day, 
Be suffer'd to intrude on me again. 

[Mjceunt 



Scene V. 

The dungeon in the Lion's Tower. 

Ugo. Lionello. 

Ugo. She did not do thee justice. She believ'd 
Thou wast too cold to be indeed my friend. 
But thou art warmer to me than my sire, 



ACT V. SC. 5. 59 



And thy ambition, hast thou nurtur'd such, 
Has not endear' d to thee thy brother's ruin. 
Lion. I can forgive her. It was love of thee — 
Alas ! the guilty love that fear'd my gaze — 
That sought to estrange us, that it might be safe. 
Heaven be with her, XJgo, as with thee, 
In this dread hour ! Hast thou no word to send 
To our sad father ? 

Ugo. None, but that I die 
Guilty against him less than he believes, 
And penitent for all; and that I die 
Firmly, as he enjoins. Bid Borso take 
My last farewell, and love, which next to thee 
He of all men possesses. Lionello, 
The father enters. I must shrive me now. 

Enter Priest. 

Gro ; and if thou be one day sovereign here, 
Think on poor IJgo, and think nothing ill. 
Lion. God ! my brother ! [throwing himself into Ugd's arms 
Ugo. [softly.'] Hush ! And now — farewell ! 
[Exit Lion. 

Ugo drops on his knees hefore the Priest, 
and Scene closes. 



60 UGO DA ESTE 



Scene VI. 

The Dungeon, as in Act V. Sc. IT. 

Parisina, 071 her hiees.^ 

Enter, 

behind her, Zoese. 

She turns, and rises indignantly and scornfully. 

Paris. What! thou? 

Zoe. [sloivly and gravely. 

And to abide with you, Madonna, 
Till the trump sound. 

Paris. There wanted this — this insult 
Zoe. This assuagement. Hear me through, Madonna. 
Our time is iDrief. The bell will shortly toll 
That gives my brother Ugo to the axe, 
Hapless like me, but far less guilty. 

Paris. "Wretch ! 
Or — art thou mad ? Thou look'st not as thou didst. 

[regarding him more nearly. 
Why com'st thou, double murderer, to thy victim ? 
Zoe. To make atonement. Stand there still. Madonna, 
Till you have heard me. In this very hour 
I have come to know I am Filippa's son, 



ACT V. SC. 6. 61 



And by the Marquis. — 

Paris. Thou art pale as death, 
And haggard. Wicked as thou art approv'd, 
Thou wouldst not mock me now. Speak'st thou mere 
truth ? 
Zoe. The horrible truth. I too have dar'd to love 
My father's wife, and in my jealous rage 
Prepar'd a double murder. But I come 
Here at your feet to make two-fold atonement. 
This dagger is for me ; this little drug 
Saves you the horror of the axe, and blood, 
Which should not stain that skin. 

Paris. Art thou sincere ? 
Zoe. See. [offering to stab himself. 

Paris. Stop ! jSTot yet ! — Art thou indeed his son ? 
Zoe. His oldest natural son ; that evil fruit, 
Planted in wickedness, and gather'd now 
To poison its producer. I have come 
To die before you. Be not now disjDleas'd 
I have again avow'd what once so vex'd you. 
Here, at your feet, I pray for your forgiveness, 
As I invoke my God's for all the wrong 
Done to the Count and thee. 

Paris. Thou art forgiven. 
I, who through passion have myself so sinn'd, 
Should have no wrath for jealous rage like thine. 
Thou must in turn forgive. I do repent me 
Of my too passionate scorn, and freely own 
I have notch'd the shaft that slays me. Take my hand. 



62 UGO DA ESTE 



Zoe. Let me once kiss it. And now let me die. 
Paris. One minute. Thou dost well to die. For thus 
Thou makest expiation for my life, 
It may be for thy brother's. But this drug, 
For which I thank thee, is it sure and quick ? 
Zoe. Certain, and almost instant in effect. 
I sought to spare thee lingering pain. 

Paris. Fresh thanks. 

I '11 wait until the tower-bell tolls, and then ! 

But haply first the priest will come, and bring me 
News of his respite. 

* Zoe. No, Madonna, no ! 
I overheard him plead in vain. My lord 
Bid him go shrive the Count. 

Paris. Thou awful God ! 
Hear'st Thou, and wilt Thou let this heart of stone 

Beat happily, while Ugo ? [Bell tolls ivithout. 

Ah! the bell! 
[Gazing vacantly and speaking gaspingly. 

The axe ! They have kill'd him ! Ugo ! God ! God ! 

[Falls into Zoese's arms. 
Zoe. Hush, hush. Madonna, and arise, for pity ! 
Or they will intercept us ! 'T is thy hour. 
Paris, [standing up instantly. 

And Ugo waits me. Thus. [Ahout to swalloiu the poison. 

Zoese stops her arm. 
Zoe. No, let me lead. 

[stahhing himself. 
Pardon : I would expire before thee. 



ACT V. SC. 6. 63 



Paris. Blood? 
Oh God ! thou 'rt — [stooping, as to stanch the wound, 
Zoe. [smiling sadly. 

— Well dispatch' d. Stay not the flow. 

Look to thyself, dear lady : their — their feet 

[Noise heard at the door. 
Paris. I hear. 
[swallows the poison. 
'T is done. 'T is well done. Thanks, my brave Zoese. 
Art thou quite gone already ? 

Zoe. [lifting his head luith diffi- 
cidty.l Was 't thy voice ? 
I see thee dimly. I expire ® — gladl3\ 
Good night — Ma — donna ! [Dies. 

Paris. So? Farewell! 
They come — but are too late : the poison works. 

Enter Priest. 
Behind him the Jailer and Executioner. 

See there the informer, and the bloody proof 
Of his repentance ! 

Priest. Didst thou do this deed, 
Unhappy lady ? 

Par-is. No — I have done one like it — 
And robb'd — the headsman. Ugo ! now — with thee I 

[Dies. 

Curtain falls. 



NOTES TO UGO DA ESTE 



1. — p. 4. . . his son by his first wife.] See p. 22, verse 5, 

2. — P. 22. While thou toast lavjful-born^ etc.] See Postscript, 
So also, for the first and fourth succeeding- verses. They give 
Bandello's story. But Nicholas was not himself " misbegotten ", 
although his father and predecessor was. 

3. — P. 23. . . ivho art younge?' than myself.'] This is fiction, 
not history. Consult page 74; where it will be found, that Pa- 
risina had at this time been married seven years, which would 
make her at least three years older than Ugo ; a degree of ma- 
turity that might be inferred from the circumstances of tlie story, 
and which is inadvertently conveyed in the very conduct and lan- 
guage ascribed to her throughout the play. 

4. — P. 31. The sky is black ivith thunder, etc] Omit, for the 
Stage, these three last verses. 



66 NOTES TO 



5. — P. GO. Parisina, on her knees.] Otherwise: 

Parisina, lyhw -seiiseleiis. 
Enter ZOESE. 
He lifts her tenclerhj. 
Zoe. Dead ? AVould thou wert, unhappy ! But thy pulse 
Tells of life still. How little time ago 
My heart had bounded but to even hope 
To hold thee thus ! — If thou wouldst only die 
Willie in this trance ! — But thou miist be awakVl 
To welcome death. — So — [setting her riji^ icith her back to the loall. 

— let me place thee so : 
It would not do for thee, nor yet for me — 
Me whom thou justly scorn' st and well mayst hate — 
That thou shouldst find me hanging o'er thee thus. 
She wakes. Alas ! — [Retreating. 

Paris, [looking about her vacantly — then recollecting 
herself.'] How came I thiis ? Ah me ! [Rises. 
What! thou? 

Zoe. [sloichj and gravely. 
And to abide, etc. etc. 

The advantage of this reading- would be that it marks the brevity 
of the time that has elapsed since the close of Sc. II. The objec- 
tions to it are, 1st: The shrieks of Parisina, in that Scene, must 
have brought assistance to her ; so that she would not he senseless 
till Zoese entered. 2dl3' : If so lying, the Jailer, who admits Zoese, 
would observe her situation. 

6. — P. 63, — I expire — ] This is full rythm : it is pronounced 
slowly, as a trisyllable. The hemisticli miglit read however, and 
without much diminution of force: "'I expire noio — gladly ", or, 
" I expire — thus — gladly ", or again, with a change of sense : " I 
am dying — gladly ". But that in the text is the true and natural 
expression. 



UGO DA ESTE 67 



POSTSCRIPT. 

In presuming the legitimacy of Ugo, I have been led astray by 
fiction. In his 44th novel, Bandello makes the Signora Bianca da 
Este, consort of the Signer Amerigo Sanseverino, relate the partic- 
ulars of so fearful a tragedy. And this lady commences by naming 
herself the grandchild of Niccolo III. As in the main parts of the 
story, as well as in certain details of contemporary history, or 
allusive thereto, the narrator agrees with the historians, it is some- 
what remarkable that she should have made Ugo the oldest legiti- 
mate son of Niccolo. She does this more than once, and with 
intentional contradiction of the historical assertion that he was one 
of Niccolo's numerous natural children. In the commencement, 
after asserting that Niccolo was himself illegitimate, but through 
the favor of the Venetians, Florentines and Bolognese, had suc- 
ceeded in obtaining the Signory, banishing the rightful lord, Azzo 
IV., his cousin, to Candia,* she proceeds: " Prese poi egli per 

* The line of succession of the Marquises of Este is perplexing to follow, 
because of the illegitimacy of so very many of them, and the frequent changes 
(partly thence arising, partly cau^d by the usurpation or the preferred succession 
of brothers) which make the line diverge again and again, so that even the collateral 
l)ranch tralineates. If the ^Izzo above, who never had the fortune to reign, is 
entitled to be numbered, his name should read Azzo X, there having been nine 
before him of that designation, direct rulers or associated in the Signory of Fer- 
rara. So far as I can disentangle the genealogy, I shall endeavor, in elucidation 
of the text, to show how Nicholas III. came to his petty sovereignty, and the le- 
gitimate line of princes was made to end in banished Azzo. 

The House of Este, from whose stem proceeds the ducal race of Brunswick, 
and conseqiiently the present royal family of England, commence their line, 
as sovereigns, with Alberto Azzo II., Marquis of Italy., Count of the Luni- 
giana, Loi'd of Este., Eovigo, etc., who died in 1097, over a hundred years old. 
Passing the list of his insignificant successors for nearly two centuries, we come 
to the reign of Obizzo II. in 1264. And here I beg leave to call attention to two 
facts : 1. the ruling Marquis names as his successor or successors whom of his 



68 NOTES TO 



moglie la Signora G-igliuola, figliuola del Signer Francesco Giovine 

house he will, and, 2. the people have a voice in confirming thera. Thus of this 
Obizzo II. we are told by Miu-atori : A7i(l although he icas but seventeen ijears old, 
nevertheless the People of Ferrara did not hesitate to give Mm the domiition of 
their city and district. For, when the funeral of the deceased Marc/uis was over, 
oil the citize?is and strangers [note this] being called together in the Square, the 
Marquis Obizzo II. xvas pronouncedby acclamation Lord of Ferrara, he and after 
him his Heir. Afitichitd Este?isi Qilodena, in fol. 1T40): P. II. Cap. 2. adinit. In 
1282, the Paduans threatening war, Obizzo confers inter vivos on his son FRAN- 
CESCO, freed of his filial allegiance ( " emancipato," ) the lands of Este, etc. (•>) In 
1293 Obizzo dies, and by his .wUl makes all his sons, Azzo (VIII.), Aldrovandino 
(II.) and Francesco, joint heritors of all his estates, dominions, and honors, (ib. 
p. 39.) The Council general of Modena elects for its perpetual lord Azzo VIII. 
Marchese dCEste e cfAncoiux. In various instruments, Francesco is named along 
with his brothers, e. g., "Lega fra i Marchesi Estensi Azzo VIII. e Francesco, 
etc." (title of document). And the words follow, in the instrument itself : 
. . " Procuratores Magnifici viri D. Francisci eadem gi-atia Estensis et Ancho- 
nitani 3Ictrchionis [Ma7-chese d'Este e d^'Ancona, as Azzo above], Fratris eju.sdem 
D. Azonis, etc." {ib. p. 60.) This Azzo djdng, 1308, appoints his universal heir 
Folco, legitimate son of Fresco his bastard son. The author of the Cronica Es- 
te nse asserts that Azzo, being reconciled to his brothers, made a new \viR in which 
he named as his heirs those brothers ; but Miiratori says, that he had never seen 
any authentic \^-riting of this other disposition, nor was any seen, 250 years be- 
fore his time, bj' Pellegrino Prisciano ; and that it appears contrary to fact, since 
it is certain that the said Fresco, as paternal guardian of Folco, succeeded with 
the aid of the Bulognese. (p. 68.) I do not see that this proves it, and the clause 
I italicize would tend to confirm the contrary. The will may have been destroyed. 
At all events, it is noticeable for my purpose, what stress is put upon the testa- 
ment of the niling prince as conferring the right of succession. Observe too 
what follows. The legitimate princes appeal to Clement V. Pojie, and he sup- 
ports their claim. The people of Ferrara, repenting of having accepted Fresco 
as their ruler, and desiring the government of legitimate Princes, revolt, and 
with such earnestness that Fresco came near yielding. But he obtains the assist- 
ance of the Venetians. Then the Papal army enters Ferrara amid the jubilant 
acclaim of the people and to shouts of Live the Marquis Francesco : (p. 69.) 
Here we see Francesco (observe this, for he is the lineal ancestor of the Azzo 



(a) Neir.pe distinguendos erat Marchionatus, fendum Regale, ab allodial! dim terra, qualis erat 
Eatensis . . LsiBN. Scrip. Brunsv. (Hanov. fol. 1716.) Introd. in T. II. p. 7. 



UGO DA ESTE 69 



da Carrara, clie in quel tempi signoreggiava Padova. Da questa 

of the text) having both the Papal sanction and the popular acclaim, of 
which two ratifications Muratori will be found to make so much for Nic- 
colo III. who excluded Azzo. In 1313, this Francesco was treacherously slain 
by the soldiers of Dalraazio Signor of Bagnolo, Yicar of the Card, di Pelagrua. 
His possessions were restored to his sons, Bertolclo and Azzo. Now we have living 
Azto and Bertoldo, sons of Francesco ; and Rinaldo, Obizzo, and Niccolo, sons of 
Aldrovandino. This Azzo, son of Francesco I., is called Azzo IX. The people 
( note again ! ) pronounce by acclamation the Marquises Einaldo and Obizzo sons 
of Aldrovandino, and Azzo son of the Marquis Francesco their lo^'ds, (p. 72.) Then 
arrive in Ferrara Niccolo, third son of Aldi-ovandino, and Bertoldo the other son 
of Francesco, and they too Juxd their part in the Signory, though the 3far. 
Rinaldo, as being first-born, was considered principal in the government. ( ib. ) 
Aldrovandino remains in the background, for reasons given by the historian. 
Pope John XXII. fulminates excommunication against the Ferrarese and places 
their city under interdict. ( p. 73. ) In 1318 died in Ferrara the Mar. Azzo, leaving 
no offspring, — as shown by his testament, in which he appoints his universal 
heir his brother the Mar. Bertoldo, ( ib. ) ; who thus becomes sole .successor to the 
rights of Franceaco I. Remember the importance ( as above sho\vn ) attached to 
a will under the circumstances. This Bertoldo in 1323 has a son bom to him 
caUed Francesco ( Franc. II. ) In 1329, a buU of P. John XXII. releases the Marr. 
Rinaldo IV., Obizzo III., and Niccolo, sons of Aldrovandino, deceased in 1320, 
from the Papal censui-e and concedes to them the Vicariate of Ferrara. ( This 
was the whole object of Papal interference, to obtain from the weakness of the 
Princes an acknowledgment of vassalage to Rome. ) In this and other bulls, 
Muratori remarks, the name of Bertoldo is not mentioned. Rinaldo dies, 1335 ; 
Bertoldo, 13 13 ; Niccolo, 1344. Obizzo dies, 1352. Now this Obizzo, third of the 
name, was a bastard son of the second Obizzo, whose father was illegitimate, and he 
had eleven bastards by the beautiful Lippa degli Ariosti of Bologna. Just before 
her death, to satisfy conscience ( as Muratori unphUosophically supposes ) and to 
legitimate his children, but more probably moved by her entreaties, he had 
himself mamed to her, this partner of perhaps a twenty years" concubinage. Up 
to this time, says the historian, FRA^XESCO had nonrished hopes of succeeding to 
the Signor y of Ferrdra ami the ot/ier States of the House of Este, but, seeing the 
■marriage take place and the bull arrive of P. Clement II. in which tlie sole sons 
of Mar. Obizzo were called to the Vicariate of Ferrara, from that timeforioard he 
ceased to smile, meditating what h£ subsequently put into effect a few days after 
the death of the Mar. Obizzo. ( Cap. V. p. 118. ) In fact, Francesco combuied 
with Rinaldo, son of the deceased Niccolo. But without effect. In 1358 peaco 



70 NOTES TO 

egli ebbe uu bellissimo figliuolo sensa piii, clie Ugo Conte di Rovigo 

was made between the brothers, and Francesco, included in the treaty, received 
back his confiscated possessions. But he never afterward saw Ferrara ( p. 127. ) 
Aldrovandino III. dies in 1361. \nA thereupon his brotlier Niccolo II. takes the 
reins of government to the exclusion of Aldrovandino's son Obizzo IV. The lat- 
ter however, and Niccolo's brother Alberto, appear to- have a nominal share in the 
government, for we find their names combined in sundry instn^iments of the time ; 
but the uncles always take precedence, and Niccolo, the actual ruler, is named 
first. Thus in 1576 the Archbishop of Eavenna, iinable to defend a portion of his 
territory, conveys it for a stipulated annual sum, not to Obizzo, but to Obizzo and 
his uncles, making the transfer in this wise : " . . la Terra di Lugo e la VUla di S. 
Potito a i Marchesi Niccolo ed Alberto e ad Obizzo loro jSTipote, figliuolo del fu 
Aldrovandino Marchese e a i loro flgUuoU e eredV Here the reversion is to the 
sons and heirs of all three ! certainly a curious instance of the looseness, in those 
dajrs, and the chance of compUcation therein involved, of the rights of succession 
in the House of Este. The Marquis Francesco dies in 1-384, leaving a son by the 
name of Azzo. And this, the tenth Marquis of that name, is the unhappy prince 
whom Parisina speaks of in the play. In 1388, Niccolo II. dies, and Alberto suc- 
ceeds. Thus again the claims of Obizzo are set aside. In 1398, Alberto dies, and 
solemnly makes over the succession to his own son, Niccolo III. Niccolo was but 
nine years old when recognized as Lord of Ferrara, ha^ong to back him the aid 
of powerful neighbors, to whom his father, either politic himself, or at the siig- 
gestion of sagacious ministers, had on his deathbed commended him. To his 
suijport, writes Muratori, arrived from Venice, Florence, Bologna and Mantua, 
various squadrons of soldiers. Such precaiitions xcere taken, because it loas 
already foresee?!, that Azzo Marqul% son of the heretofore mentioned Francesco 
Marquis of Este, not unlike his father, loould Mve made attempts to icrest hy 
xisurpation the Signory of Ferrara from the Marquis Niccolo, although this 
latter, both by the bulls of th£. Pope ( repeated again in 1394 ) a?ul by the election 
of the People, icas th^ legitimate possessor, to the exclusion of the said Azzo, 
deprived of title to lay claim to that do7ninion. ( u. s. p. 159. ) Azzo has recourse 
to arms. In 1395, a proposition was made to certain of the Council of Ferrara, 
and accepted by them, to take Aszo off. But the pretended assassins, men of 
rank, substituted, for the promised victim, a poor devil of a servant, who had 
the misfortune to resemble him in \'isage and whom they dressed up in Azzo's 
clothes. Cron. ICov. Jac. de Belayto. ( Eer. Ital. Scrip, xviii. coll. 919, 20. ) 
Finally, after a petty battle, Azzo was taken prisoner and ca,rried to Faenza, 
and being delivered to the Venetian government, was confined, as above said, in 
Candia, ( ib. 959. ) See final subnote, p. 76. 



UGO DA ESTE . */! 



fu chiamato." And at the close, after reciting the death of the 
lovers and their burial in San Francesco, she says : "Hora, veg- 
gendosi il Marchese senza moglie e scnza figliuoli legitimi, si 
marito la terza volta, e prese per moglie la Siga. Ricciarda, figliuola 
del Marchese di Saluzzo ; de la quale nacquero il Duca Hercole, 
padre del Duca Alfonso, ed altresi il Sign. Sigismondo da Este mio 
padre. lo so, che sono alcuni che hanno openione, che lo sfortunato 
Conte non fosse figliuolo dela prima moglie del Marchese Niccolo,* 
ma che fosse il prime flgliuol bastardo che havesse ; ma essi forte 
s'ingannano, perche fu legitime, ed era Conte di Rovigo, come 
piu volte ho sentito dire a la buona memoria del Signer mio Padre." 
This is very positive, and as it is difficult to see what motive there 
could be in altering the facts, when the legitunacy of Ugo would 
rather, by reason of the prejudices of mankind, add to the enor- 
mity of his crime, a bastard's virtue being always looked upon with 
suspicion, — otherwise, not so much being expected of him, — I 
can only suppose the memory of the narrator to have been at fault. 
Yet, what are we to think of the name and rank of his mother 
being given ? If such a story really was told, Bandello may him- 
self through fault of memory or through indifference to facts, have 
slightly, yet materially, distorted some of its details.f Still, with 

* Nicholas was espoused to Gigliola, daughter of Francesco II. of Padua, in 
1397, when he had just passed his thirteenth year, she being about fifteen. ( De- 
layto u. s. ) Supposing that he had a son by her eight years afterward, the 
period would be 1405. If we add to this twenty years, the age assigned to Ugo, 
we have 1425, the epoch of the tragedy. Thus there is no discordance in the 
date to give unlikelihood to the assertion in BandeUo, who adds that the 
mother died soon after giving him birth. Ugo was born in 1405. Addit. aiioii. 
'uinal. R. I. S. xv. 536. 

t " Ultimamente la S. Bianca ne recito una, die a me parve, per gli accidenti 
suoi, molto notabile. II perche io, che presente vi era, havendola ben notata, la 
scrissi, e la collocai con Taltre mie." II Bandello al Conte IL Castiglione. Nov. 
P. I. p. 289, ed. di Londra. 4to. 1740. 

The personage to whom he whites this, in a brief and graceful proem and dedi- 
cation, was the jlhistrious Caldassar Castiglione, the poet and ambassador, the 



72 NOTES TO 



even this presumption, and all allowance made for the license of a 
novehst, the ascription, deliberate and circumstantiated, of legiti- 
macy to Ugo, if there were no grounds for it, in tradition or other- 
wise, appears a singular freak of the imagination or perversion of 
judgment. It is to be observed that though Sigismondo, the second 
of the legitimate sons of Niccolo by Ricciarda, was not born till 
seven or eight years after the death of Ugo,* he yet must have been 
fully informed of all the particulars ; and it is his daughter who ia 
made to declare that those who believe that Ugo tuas not born in wedlock 
are greatly deceived^ for she had often heard her father say lie was 
legitimate and loas Count of Rovigo. Moreover, it is remarkable that 
to Nicholas III,, who had so numerous a family of bastards, are 
assigned no children by either Gigiiola or Parisina. The same year 

belo^■ed and honored of Popes and Princes, the author of the "golden book" of 
the Courtier. How can we suppose, that, to such a man and such a writer, 
Bandello would send, in return for one of his fastidious compositions (»), what he 
himself knew to be a jvunble of truth and falsehood ? 

It was just one hundred years after the event of the tragedy that Bandello, 
flying from his native territory ( the Milanese ) where the battle of Pa\aa had 
made the Spaniards masters, took refuge, after various wandering, in France. 
Here he became Bishop ad interim of Agen, in 1550, and died in the neighborhood 
of that city about eleven years afterward. As he was bom toward the end of the 
preceding centuiy, he may be supposed to have been between twenty and thirty 
yearp old when present, as he says, at the recital of the Lady Blanche's story, 
and, as Castiglione died in 1539, he must have written it down within a very few 
years after he had heard it. So that, whatever may be said of slighter errors, 
the chief and impoitant discrepancy from historical accounts, namely in the birth 
of Ugo, remains, as implied above, not easily explainable. 

* In 1433, the Emperor Sigismimd, returning, after receiving the Roman crown, 
to Germany, arrived at Ferrara. There he created " CavaUeri cinque figliuoli 
del medesimo Principe [Xicc. III.], cio6 Lionello, Borso, e Folco non legittimi, 
ed Ercole e Sigismondo fanciulU legittimi ; Tultimo de' quali fu anche tenuto da 
lai al sacro forte." Antlch. Est. II. p. 196. Ercole was bom 1431. 

(a) . . " havendomi vol mandata quella Vfstra bellissima Elegia, ehe io alcuna cosetta de le mie 7l 
ilebbia mandare, non per scambio, ec." u. s. 



UGO DA ESTE 13 



m which he married Ricciarda, 1429, he obtained from the Pope 
( Martin V. ) the legitimation of Lionello. 

However, the accuracy of Bandello is sufficient for the purposes 
of tragedy, and, as I have not hesitated to use the privilege of a 
dramatist in certain other points, as in the consanguinity of Zoese, 
and in making Parisina to die by poison, and the execution of Ugo to 
follow immediately the condemnation, it cannot be thought material 
that I should have made Lionello ( the immediate successor of Nic- 
colo) the oldest of his illegitimate sons, and by Stella,* who in 
Frizzi's history is said to be represented as the mother of Ugo. 
Had I been certain that there is no historical warrant for what is 
maintained by the novehst, I should probably not have made Ugo 
a legitimate son of Niccolo, who appears to have had but two male 
children that were born in wedlock. But the plot of the tragedy 
was formed years ago ( probably soon after reading the tale in 1840 ); 
and it was only when the work was fairly under way, ( 1861, ) that 
I had it in my power to consult any particular history of Ferrara. 
I have not yet been able to find a copy of either Frizzi ( cited by 
Byron in the notes to his Parisina ) or Sardi ( therein named ), but 
I have searched the volumes of Muratori, from which I make the 
following extracts. 

The old annalist of the family of Este, Joannes Ferrariensis, 
{ap. MuRAT. Rer. Ital. Scriptor. Tom. xx.) enumerates seventeen 
children of Niccolo, male and female. He gives the additional name 
of Aldrovandino to Ugo, whose decease he simply chronicles, as if 
it was an ordinary death : " Ugone Aldrovandino mortuo " ( z&. 453.) 
His annals were written in the principality of the first Duke ( Borso), 

* "II primo de i figliuoli bastardi fu Leonello, che d'una giovane bellisrma 
( che Stella era nomata ) nacque. E questo successe al padre ne la Signoria de la 
Citt^ di Ferrara. II secondo fu il famoso Borso, generate in una gentildonna 
Senese, de la nobile e antica casa de i Tolomei ; il quale di Marchese fu da Paolo 
II. sommo Pontefice creato Duca di Ferrara, e da Federico d' Austria Imperadore 
fatto Duca di Modena e di Reggie." BAND. Nov. xliv. 

Vol. II.— 4 



74 NOTES TO 



to whom he addresses them, and out of reverence to whom he may 
be supposed to have suppressed the particulars of the occurrence. 

From the "Diario Ferrarese" {Di autori incerti) — ap. Mdrat. 
ih. xxiv. I learu that Niccolo espoused Parisina in 1418. As the 
tragedy occurred in 1425, she had therefore been married to him 
seven years at the time of that atrocious crime, or at least of its 
discovery and punishment. — Borso^ it says, was the son of Stella : — 
" Eodem Millesimo — Adi xi di Lujo, moritte Madonna Stella da 
I'Assasino, Madre di Messer Borso,* che fu poi Duca, ed era stata 
a posta de lo lUustrissimo Marchexe Niccolo da Este, e fu sepolta 
a S^ Francesco con grande onore." 184. 

" MCCCOXXV. Del mese di Marcio. Uno Luni a hore xviiii fu 
tajata la testa a Ugo Figliolo de lo Illustre Marchexe Niccolo da Este, 
e a Madonna Parexina, che era Madrigna di dicto Ugo; e questo 
perche lui avea uxado carnalmente con lei ; ed insieme fu decapi- 
tado uno Aldrovandino di Rangoni da Modena famio del dicto 
Signore, per essere stato casone di questo male; e furono morti 
in Castel Yecchio in la Torre Marchexana, e la nocte furono por- 
tati suso una caretta a Sto Francesco; e ivi furono sepulti." 
Id. ib. 184, 5. 

Neither of these Chronicles, it will be seen, (the first, for obvious 
reasons,) speaks of Ugo as illegitimate, but the C)wi. di Bologna and 
the Memoriale Histor. Matt, de GriffonUms ( R, I. S. xviii ) both do. 

" In esso anno 1425, passata la meta di Marzo occorse un funesto 
Qccidente al Marchese Niccolo. Informato egli da una mal' accorta 
damigella, che passava disonesto commerzlo fra Parisina de' Mala- 
testi sua moglie, e Ugo suo figliuolo bastardo, e chiaritosene con gli 
occhi proprj, li fece preudere amendue, e formato il processo, ne 

* It will have been seen ( subnote *, p. 73 ) that the Lombard novelist makes 
him to have been the son of a noble lady of Siena. As in the case of Ugo and of 
Lionello, what grounds he had for misrepresenting histoiy in this particular, while 
borrowing from it other details for the very purpose of giving the color of verity 
to Ills narration, I have no means of ascertaining ; and perhaps none exist. 



UGO DA ESTE 76 



segui la condanna, per cui fii loro levato il capo dal busto. La rae- 
desima pena toeco ad Aldrovandino Rangoue, e a due damigelle, 
complici del misfatto. Delia lor morte fu incredibilmente afflitto il 
popolo di Ferrara, perche amava forte il suddetto Ugo, giovane di 
vent' anni, di rara belta e prodezza. Maggiore uondimeiio fu di 
gran lunga la doglia, che svaporato il bollore della collera ne soflri 
poscia il Marchese, troppo tardi pentito della precipitosa giustizia ; 
di modo clie per molti mesi non seppe ammettere conforto o conso- 
lazioue alcuna." Antichiti Estensi. P. Ila. Cap. vii. p. 191. 

The antiquarian ( ih. cap. viii. ) calls Lionello the eldest of Nic- 
colo's sons. He characterizes him as a prince of consummate jnehj 
and amiability, p. 202. Borso is lauded as endowed luith rare pru- 
dence, of tried humanity^ and possessed of other incomparable gifts, ib. 
Cap. ix. p. 207. Eulogies which, as tliey are founded on the char- 
acterization of the old annalists, and other inconsiderable historians 
of the period, who endow even Nicholas III. with every princely 
virtue, must be accepted, like all contemporaneous judgment, with 
caution. Of Nicholas indeed and his last act, Muratori thus speaks: 
.... "ceased to exist Nicholas III., Marquis of Este, a prince 
magnificent and just, of fine aspect, of agreeable manners, of vigor- 
ous constitution, of rare prudence, and adorned with other signal 
virtues, among which nevertheless was wanting continence ; for he 
left behind him not a few bastards, whom moreover in the succes- 
sion of his States he preferred to Hercules and to Sigismund who 
were legitimate. He had time to make a will . . and in this de- 
clared inheritor of those States Lionel, his bastard, though legiti- 
mated, son ; for he did not deem fitted for such a burden, and 
surely in times so full of discord and danger, Hercules, although 
the first of his legitimate sons, born to him by Ricciarda da Saluzzo, 
but who at that time had scarcely passed the tenth year of his age." 
ib. p. 201. Yet Nicholas himself had been set over the same States 
when he had scarcely passed his ninth year. The epithet of just 
appears hardly then to be applicable. Apart from which particular, 



V6 NOTES TO 



it is to be observed that Muratori wrote under the auspices of Fran- 
cis III., Duke of Modeiia and Marquis of Este, to whom he was 
hbrarian, and the same doubts may be entertained of his irapartiahty 
as I have expressed in regard to that of Galluzzi, the historian of the 
Granducal House of Medici.* In the historical passage I have be- 
fore alkided to as appended to Byron's Parisina, we are told that 
this " Principe . . giusto . . di dolce maniere . . di rara prudenza, 
e d'altri insigni virtu ornato " completed his Castle tragedy, like a 
king of the Arabian Nights, or the Pharaoh of Herodotus, by order- 
ing to be put to death every woman in Ferrara who was known to 
have violated her marriage bed ; a despicable act as well as atro- 
cious, and which probably was done quite as much to make his 
precipitous punishment of his own wife and own son appear the 
result of an immeasurable detestation of the crime itself, as in the 
passionate impulse of outraged honor and offended self-love. It was 
certainly, this general slaughter of the non-innocents, a curious action 
on the part of a wholesale adulterer, one whose offences against con- 
jugal fidelity were so notorious, that it could be said of him ( however 

* Again, though an admirable annalist and indefatigable antiquary, he does 
not appear to have been endowed with philosophical acumen, nor indeed to have 
had a desire to fathom the motives of action or to analyze on general and moral 
grounds the characters of his personages. He commits, too, great oversights 
when venturing upon political judgment. For example, the really in-egular suc- 
cession of Niccolo III. he justifies, as we have seen, by the voice of the people 
and the bulls of the Pope, confii-matory of the will of the bastard Alberto, who, 
neither directly nor indirectly had any right to bequeath what was not exclu- 
sively, even if it was in any wise properly, his own ; yet precisely the same sanc- 
tion, popular acclaim and acceptation and the Pontifical edicts, establishes, through 
his own historical evidence, the real lineal claim of Francesco I., one of the joint 
heirs of Obizzo II., and of Francesco's son Bertoldo, who, acquiring by the will of 
his brother Azzo all the latter' s rights, combined thus in his own son, Francesco 
II., the separate rights of both according to the usage of the House of Este, and 
so made the true and legitimate representative of its princes, dating from Alberto- 
Azzo II., the imprisoned and exiled Azzo, who is declared to be absolutely with- 
out any claim whatever to the marquisate. 



TTGO DA ESTE 77 



in a novel and jocosely ) " tanta turba di figliuoli bastard! gli nacque, 
che haverebbe fatto di loro un' essercito. E per qiiesto su il Fer- 
rarese ancora si costuma di dire, dietro al flume del P6, trecento 
figliuoli del Marchese Niccolo hanuo tirato I'altana de le navi." 



SOXNET 



PRELIMINARY TO UBERTO 



Isle where my lady dwelleth ! where the hills 
Are green forever with the fadeless pine, 
Thy aspect, lovelier by the distance, fiUs 
My soul with longing, making me repine 

At the hard measure of a fate that wills 
Her pleasant dwelling-place shall ne'er be mine, — 
Even while I own it were the worst of ills. 
Her bloom should with my yellow leaves entwine. 

Home of Gismonda ! as thy green hiUs fade 
In the dim distance while I sail from thee, 

I am as sad as if my hands had laid 
Some lov'd one in the tomb ; for such to me 

Thou seem'st, and living every wood and glade. 
With but one soul to all, and that is she. 



September 30, 1859, 



TJBEETO 

MDCCCLTX 
4* 



CHARACTERS 

Mo7'tals 

Uberto degli Uberti. 
Anselmo Mozzo. 
Ugo de' Pazzi. 

GrlSMONDA. 

Flora. 

GrIOCONDA. 

Immortals 

Michael, Archangel. 

Lucifer. 

Sammael. 

Chorus of Angelic Spirits (invisible). 
Chorus of Infernal Spirits. 



Date of the action : the commencement of the lAth century. 



TJBEKTO 



Act the First 

Scene I. Interior of a Castle on the Lake of Como. 

A Study ^ lighted solely hy the moon, ivhose 

rays stream through a window at 

the upper end. 

Uberto, in a 7nelancholy attitude, on one of the benches 

in the embrasure of the luindotu, looking out, at 

the open casement, upon the lake. 

Tiber. Even as I gaze, — but not with such a thought — 
For he was married — not alone as I, — 
G-az'd on yon flood, twelve hundred years ago. 
The younger PHny. ISTature does not change ; 
Her youth renews itself; and years, which mar 
All that is comely in man's physical form. 
Nor even spare his soul — though there, their work 
Is slower — make no visible change in her. 
Still o'er the mountains rises the same moon ; 



84 UBEETO 



Still on the water sparkle the same beams ; 

And by them sleep the shadows, still the same — 

Save where the houses stand — and them man made. 

And this must be. The universe, whose hfe 

Is haply for all time, can ne'er grow old : 

But man, whose being is scant a hundred years. 

Must, like her other offspring, brook decay. 

If that decay were constant — in all parts, — 

If the vex'd spirit would wrinkle like the brow, 

And the tired heart grow bald, ere half the sands 

Of life's allotted hour were well run out, — 

'T were less to plain ; but that the heart, unworn 

By its long throbbing, should beat youthful still, 

The spirit be vigorous, nay, the limbs themselves, 

With all the strength and bound of their best days 

Obey each impulse of the fiery soul, 

And have their grace and rounded beauty still, 

Yet the denuded head and care-worn face 

Point to senescence, — that we should love on. 

When we have lost the bloom that wakens love 

He rises tmeasily and comes down the scene. 
Grismonda ! [with a soft accent. 

Men, more ag'd than I, have won 
Maidens as young and beautiful as thou. 
But then they were of eminent rank, had fame, 
Or large possessions, or all these combin'd, 
While I in social place am but thy peer, 
And poor as thou ; and honor, for whose crown 
I have toil'd for thirty years, men still deny me, 



ACT I. SC. 1. 85 



Nor ever will yield perhaps till this sad heart 

Has ceas'd to beat for honor or for love. 

And better thus when thou art in the count, 

For I must be accepted for myself. 

And thou dost not disdain me ; but I deem 

Thy vanity alone is touch'd : to love — 

Love such as I ! with this disfarnish'd crown 

And faded cheek ! — Oh, that I could put back 

The hand upon life's dial for ten short years ! 

The hand should stop the sooner for it ; and life, 

In the duration which my strength foretells, 

Nay the long hope of fame wherewith deferr'd 

My heart has sicken'd, all should be exchang d — 

For what ? Oh madness ! Yet the torturing sense 

Of what I am and what I cannot be 

Prompts desperate counsel. Were the Devil to tempt me 

In this vex'd hour, I might my very soul 

Yield for the heart's fruition What is that ? 

Lucifer, 

in the shape of a man 

tall and stately^ appears in the moonlight 

ivhich floods the centre of the scene. 

'T is but the phantom conjur'd by my brain : 
My head is wild with study, and with what 
Has well-nigh murder' d study, as they both 
Have kept me wakeful ; and my long unrest 
Has made me feverous. But the shape comes on I 



86 UBERTO 



That burn'd within, and shows its eyes — how grand ! 

And yet how mournful ! and a beautiful smile, 

That lures and yet repels, about the mouth 

Perfect as chisel'd work. This cannot be 

Wholly a dream ; I was but now awake. — 

'T is within reach, and grandly lifts its hand ! 

Who art thou ? [stepping hackward. 

Lucif. Men assign me various names, 
But none that flatter. Thou hast mention'd one. 

Uher, The Devil? 

Lucif. If thou wilt. But Lucifer 
Is courtlier far, and will suit both as well. 

Uher. Either I am mad, or This will solve it. 

lights a taper.'] Still ? 

In human robes ! and like a king in mien, 
But beautiful as the most cherish' d forms 
That I have sigh'd to model. 

Lucif. And so, well, 
If I were come to sit to thee. But thou 
Art poet more than artist — in man's phrase, — 
And something more than either. Doubt'st thou yet? 

Uher. Doubt what ? That thou art more than human ? Ay, 
Thou playest with my fancy, or thou art 
But fancy all ; for I'll not so offend 
Against that lordly port and beautiful form. 
Which my mind worships, as to deem thou art 
A vulgar cheat. What art thou ? Say ; and prove it. 
Lucif. Poor skeptic ! I would touch thee ; but thy frame 



ACT I. SC. 1. 87 



Would not endure my contact. Touch thou me, 
If so thou darest. and see. 

Uberto attempts to touch him, and 

his hand passes as through empty air ; the figure 

seeming to disappear, and then, as he 

retires, appearing again. 

JJher. It is a dream. 
I have seen mere shapes before, but none so real, 
Sometimes in sickness, sometimes when the brain 
Was almost wild with long-continued toil. 
And yonder are the moon, the lake, the mountains ; 
Yon candle burns ; I speak. Or I am mad. 
Or this is fever's phrensy. {Puts his fingers on his lurist as 

if to mark the pidse. 
Lucif. Ko, thou art 
But philosophic, as thou wouldst say, and sham'st 
To think as think the vulgar. Yet I come. 
Thou seest, without those attributes the herd 
Of men assign me. Why then count thy pulse ? 
Thou speak'st, and knowest what ; yon candle burns ; 
The moon, the lake thou seest, and the hills : 
Am I less real ? or dost thou credit only 
What thou canst understand ? Who taught thee then 
What makes the moon revolve, what gives the lake 
Its properties, and the solid mountains theirs. 
Why flames yon candle, and why flames destroy ? 
Thou knowest not half of what thou seest and hearest, 



88 UBERTO 



And why then question me ? Or giv'st thou not 
BeUef unto thy soul as well as sense, 
Because thou seest thy organs, not thy mind ? 

Uher. I credit both ; I doubt but what I see 

And listen now are my distemper'd thoughts. 
I am asleep, and shall to-morrow know it. 

Lucif. Know it at once — that thou art wide awake. 
Do something that shall prove it, I would bid thee 
Call up thy servant ; but at this strange hour, 
Without known cause, 't would peril thy good name. 
Wilt add a sonnet to the twelve thou 'st written 
Already in Grismonda's praise ? Thou startest : 
Is that enough ? Or wilt thou bathe thy brow 
In yonder basin ? Or look — that 's better still — 
Into that mirror ? [ Uherto hols. 

See ! [maliciously. 

thy head is shorn 
Clean as a monk's, — or worse ; Grismonda's eyes 
Will find no lovelock on thy forehead now. 
Dost thou remember, in her father's grounds, 
When she would point thee out that landscape broad 
Thou thought'st so beautiful, but wherefrom thou turn'dst 
To gaze upon her profile, — which she saw, 
And, seeing, smil'd, well-pleas'd, — how, when the breeze 
Upon her native hill had lifted up 
The broad leaf of thy summer hat, and thou 
Snatch'd at it, fearing it would fall and thus 
Kemind her of thy baldness, — how, I say. 
She turn'd aside, and thou didst love her more 



ACT I. SC. 1. 89 



For that she did so ? By the stars ! with cause: 

It had been droll, that bald front so reveal'd ! 

Where Cupid would not find ten good-siz'd hairs 

To twist into a bowstring, or a fly-trap. 
Uher. Ah ! now I know thou art the Devil. Say then, 

What art thou come for ? 

Lucif. What was now thy wish ? 
Uher. If thou art he I nam'd, thou know'st already. 
Lucif. Still skeptical ! still human ! — Thou art, then, 

In love, as mortals say, with 

Uher. Name her not. 
Lucif. Even as thou lik'st. I say, thou hast made this girl 

Thy paramount thought. Thou livest now for her, 

And to live with her wouldst give up thy soul, 

Or think'st thou wouldst. Thou mayst. 

Uher. I may without. 
Lucif True ; 't is in nature maids are lightly won : 

But are they kept as lightly ? Seems she pleas'd 

With her first conquest, 't is that 't is the first : 

She may grow wiser some day, and remember. 

What now she has forgot as well as thou. 

Her father was scarce older. 

Uher. I have not. 
Lucif Not since thou wast her lover ; but, at first 

Hadst thou remember'd, wouldst thou so have fed 

Thine eyes upon her beauty ? Thou mayst win her, 

I grant, without surrendering up thy soul ; 

By the mere flattery of thy over love 

Mayst win her. Thousands are so won. Wouldst thou, 



90 UBERTO 



With thy exacting spirit, be so content ? 
Uher. No, I woo not her vanity. 

Lucif. Because 
Thyself art vain and must have heart for heart. 
Save thou canst put the shadow on the dial, 
Thou spak'st of, back a dozen years or more, 
Thou wooest in vain. She may esteem, revere, 
Admire, since thou art wise in human lore, 
A man so old as thou ; but ask not love. 
Lift but thy hat, her dream, if she have one, 
Will seem a jest. But I can make it sad 
As that enwraps thy senses. 

Uher. By what means ? 
Lucif. By putting back a dozen years or more 

The shadow on the dial of thy age. 
Uher. And at what cost ? 

Lucif. Th3^self hast said. 

Uher. My soul ? 
What wouldst thou do with it ? 

Lucif. Not roast it. That 

Would scarce amuse me. But Canst thou believe 

The Devil can speak the truth ? 

Uher. Ay, men, that are 
Not over scrupulous else, may, from mere pride, 
Or when it suits their interest, do so. 

Lucif Well. 
Shouldst thou die now, invested with the pomp 
Of what thou callest virtue, thou wouldst rise 
Unto a higher state of being ; Avhat, 



ACT I. SC. 1. 91 

And where, it matters not, — T am no more 

In Heaven's secrets. Shouldst thou make thy soul 

Over to me, it will be under me. — 
Uher. And thus be diabolical. 

Lucif. Call it so, 

If the name suits thee. It may well be great, 

Being of no common order, but no more 

In the same quiet way. I can insure thee 

Uher. Nothing ! Begone, foul tempter ! For a crown 

I would not make myself the thing I hate, 

Nor wear Hell's livery. 

Lucif. For thy lady's heart ? 
Uher. Not for ten times her heart ! 

Lucif. Be it as thou wilt. 

But thou wilt haply change thy mind. You men 

Are very apt to, when the passions move. 

If so, thou need'st but wish, and I am here. 

Lucifer vanishes. 

Uher. [after a pause. 

Gone as he came. And what a beautiful mien 1 
Though now I shudder as with mortal fear. 
And feel to listen was itself a sin. 

Help Heaven ! were men to hear, wert thou, Gismonda, 
So pious in thy innocent faith, to hear 
I have converse held with Him, they'd deem me mad, 
And thou wouldst turn with horror from the look 
Now gives thee pleasure. Yet it was for thee ! 



92 UBERTO 



For thee ? Help Heaven again ! nor let me cease 
To know, this passion, whose exalted sweet, 
Which yet hath bitterness, tempts me now to ill, 
Will lose its heavenly savor and high zest 
When I shall be less virtuous than art thou. 

He resumes his flioughtful attitude 
in the tuindoWj and the 

Scene closes. 



Scene II. 

In a world yet incandescent, a j^ortion 

of the surface which has congealed and forms the 

shore as it ivere to an ocean of fire. 

Several Evil Spirits standing on this shore, 

and chanting. 

Chorus of Spirits. 

Up from the fathomless 
Ocean of fire, 
Rises the sulphur-cloud 
Hio-her and hioher. 



ACT I. SC. 2. 93 



1st Spirit 
Though unforgotten the Hght that has vanish' cl, 

2d Spirit 
Though from the regions of bhss ever banish'd, 

3<i Spirit. 
Our senses, now custom'd, have ceas'd to deplore 
The sights, sounds, and woe, that were anguish before, — 

Chorus. 

"While from the fathomless 
Ocean of fire 
Rises the sulphur-cloud 
Higher and higher. 

1st Spirit 
Soon shall this globe, on its surface congealing, 
Teem with new life, with new thought and new feeling. 

2d Spirit 
Whither then shall we be helplessly driven, 

3cZ Spirit. 
Whom Hell will not hold, who are banish'd from Heaven ? 

Chorus. 

There where the fathomless 
Ocean of fire 

Throws up its sulphur-clouds 
Hio^her and hiirher. 



94 UBERTO 



1st Spirit. 
Wherever it be, we shall bear with us thither 
The same hearts and minds which came wing'd with us 
hither ; 

2d Spirit. 
Unbroke and unbending, 

3cZ Spirit. 

Though from the new ocean 
Of Hell surge the billows with fiercer commotion : 

Chorus. 

Though from -the fathomless 
Ocean of fire 

Rise the blue sulphur-clouds 
Higher and higher. 

Enter Lucifer, 

no longer in human form^ hut in his proper shape 

of an archangel ruined. 

Beside^ hut a little hehind him., 

SammaiJl. 

The other Spirits retire^ ivith looJcs and gestures 

of deference. 

Samm. And was this all ? 

Lucif What more could be expected ? 
His spirit is still sanguine though dejected, 
Sees clearly and is free ; 



ACT I. SC. 2. 



But wild with passion, as it soon shall be, 

No more will then appal 

Those terrors which preserve the Lord's elected 

From Adam's fall : 

And such as Adam, so call'd, was, is he. 

His passion for the beautiful I see 

May make him be in time even my adorer : 

Thou shouldst have heard his compliments to me, 

As I stood in the moonlight, and my dim 

Face-glory made me visible to him! 

The woman's slave was less commov'd before her 

Than before me, made human, head and limb. 
Samm. But what will all thy pains avail ? 
Lucif. Couldst thou not reckon, if thou hadst not heard ? 

O'er the soul's-ruin of one man like this 

Will be more wail 

In the detested realms of bliss 

Than when ten thousand of the common herd, 

Who are true brutes in instinct, fail. 

Why this lone poet, with his self-denial, 

Is an epitome of the Christian code — 

That is, as they profess it, not on trial 

As it is practis'd, in whatever mode. 

He'd cut himself to pieces, if thereby 

He could but multiply his means of good. 

And for this petty idol, this Gismonda, 

Who would torment his life out if he own'd her, 

And hardly shed ten tears were he to die — 

ThouR-h that is more, if heartfelt, than most wives 



96 UBERTO 

Could spare, unless in joy of widowhood — 
Would readily lay down a thousand lives, 
Had he so many. 

Samm. 'Tis a hero. 

Lucif. No, 
It is a fool, — in that respect at least. 
What steads him, I would know, 
This frantic self-devotion in his world, 
Where the unsensual spirit is downward hurl'd 
While upward climbs the beast ? 
Who lays him in the dust to ease another, 
The latter treads on him, though 't were his brother, 
And the self-victim rises, more than bruis'd, 
His heart crush'd out, and wretched-sad to find 
His fellow-creatures are not of his mind ; 
As if this abnegation of his own 
Had not, by its mere action, made them stone I 

Samm. But, fool or hero, will he fall '? 

Lucif. Did not, as men believe. 

The common foresire of them all ? 

This who should know but thou, who tempted'st Eve, 

That tempted him, as mortals say. 

Samm. Poor butterfly! with his brief summer-day ! 
Almost for his disaster I could grieve. 

Lucif. Out, hypocrite ! And Avould he pity thee ? 
He might, if he beheld thee in that guise 
Of a corrupting flesh which snar'd his eyes 
When he saw me. 
But come before him grim with smoke of Hell 



ACT 1. SC. 2. 97 



And thy imagiu'd bestial marks besides, 

Though thou shouldst all thy fearful tale relate, 

Thy myriad human ages of punition, 

To which the length of his assum'd pei-dition 

Were not a summer's day in mortal date, 

He'd turn from thee with horror, and with pride 

Bid thee, as he bade me — me, who had sway, 

And yet shall have, o'er other worlds as fair 

As that whose crust 

G-ives breathing-space to this vain child of dust, 

Who scarce is seen, and that but briefly, there ! 

Would bid thee, as he now bade me, I say, 

With haughtiness, to leave him. 

He shall have guerdon : I will give him 

What shc^ll his arrogant self-love make elate. 

Yet crush his heart. 

Samvi. And what will so deceive him ? 
Lucif. The fruit whereof he thinks the first man ate. 

Exeunt Lucif. and Samm. ; 
when the meaner Spirits re-enter 
and renew their chant: 
*'Up from, &c.," 

and Scene 
Vol. II.— 5 



98 UBERTO 



Act the Second 

Scene I. A liiglnvay leading right and left. 

Ahove^ — a gateway 

closing-in a liiVy road^ ivliicli conducts to 

Gismondci's hereditary home. 

Enter 
from the gate, shutting it after them, 

Uberto and Anselmo. 

Uher. Here our ways part ; but not so our fond theme. 
I am surpris'd, Anselmo, thou shouldst doubt 
My open meaning. Gladly would I see 
Gismonda wed to such a man as thou. 
Thou art of suitable age, art comely, good, 
And hast a fair possession. 

Ansel. And I say. 
With the known liking which Uberto has 
For the young Countess, I am more surpris'd, 
That he should wish her other than his own. 
Uber. Which she can never be. 

Ansel. Why so ? 

Uher. For this, 
To say no more, — that I am old and worn, 



ACT II. SC. 1. 99 



While thou, good-looking, art yet in thy prime. 

Ansel. But do good looks win women ? Not to say, 
I want thy lofty stature and fine form ; 
If somewhat less my years, and hair unfallen, 
My features cannot be compar'd with thine; 
And where the tongue to woo as thou canst do ? 
Women are caught not by the eyes, as we. 

Uber. Yes, by our eyes, when they adore their own. 
Hast thou e'er seen Gismonda watch my features ? 

Ansel. ISTo, but all know she hangs upon thy words, 
Repeats thy sayings, and bridles at thy gaze. 
I do not interest her, as thou dost. 

Uher. — Her vanity. She knows I will not sue. 

What ! at my age, think'st thou that I would wed ? 
In ten brief years, suppose her now content, 
I should have lost that fire which makes my soul 
More young than thine, Anselmo, and ray step 
Its buoyant spring, my body, if not its strength. 
At least its suppleness, while she then would be, 
What thou art now, just thirty. What woula keep 
My passions at the fall-flood mark of hers ! 
Is 't /should make her miserable? Then, 
Where is the wealth should keep her in that state 
She was brought up to ? 

Ansel. Yery few give thought 
To such conditions. 

Uher. I am of the few. 
I never have been selfish, nor will now 
Unlearn that little merit which alone 



100 TBERTO 



Uplifts me from the herd. If, then, thou wilt, 
Press thy suit, counting on no let of mine. 
And if thou win Grismonda, as thou mayst, 
I'll wish thee joy of a good wife. Farewell. 

They separate^ Anselmo going to the left, 

Uberto to the right. But, in a few moments, 

re-enter Uberto. 

Were never rivals on such terms as we ! 
Yet he so frank and generous, while calm, 
It could not be that I, of hotter mood, 
Should be less liberal. But I did not say 
What pain 'twill give me, Avhen I Avish him joy. 

And we to-night shall meet again, Gismonda, - 
In a gay circle, scenes that I should shun 
But thou art there, as now 1 haunt all places 
Where I have hope to meet thee, for thy sake 
Almost a child — as thou shouldst be to me. 

I wonder if ghe lingers where we left her ? — 
Would I could see her coming down the hill ! 

He looks to the left, as if to see whether An- 
selmo is in sight, then goes tip to the 
gate, and leans upon one of the 
pillars in a thoughtful 
attitude. 

Scene 



ACT II. SC. 2. 101 



Scene II, 



Moonlight A walk in the Garden of a villa. 

Above, an arbor, thickly overhung 

with vines and creeping plants. 

Enter, from the right, 
Uberto. 

Tiber. How beautiful she look'd ! And in the dance, 
With young Francesco, how her eyes still turn'd 
To watch if mine pursu'd her ! how they beam'd, 
Eadiant with innocent, undisguis'd delight, 
To find they did so ! Yet they look'd not soft : 
They never do on me. And now they should not, 
For her as well as me. But mine on her ! 
I was bewilder'd. For her sake, I hope 
None notic'd my heart-worship save herself, 
Who, in the innocence of her virgin heart. 
Unconsciously encourag'd it. I hear 
The buzz of voices. I have fled the hall, 
To escape the noise, the heat, the lights, the crowd, 
Which make my senses giddy. I will rest me 
In this close arbor, till the party pass. 



102 UBERTO 

Enter Gismonda, 

with Flora, Gioconda, and others of her friends. 

They stop before the arhor. 

Gism. Cease, Flora, do ! for pity ! for my sake ! 
Flor. Oh yes, for thifie ! for thou art strangely charm'd 
With that old bachelor. What would Count Anselmo 
Have said to see thy smiles of preference ? 

Gism. Neither 
Has any right to question why I smile, 
Or whom I smile on. For the Count Anselmo, 
Messer Uberto is as good as he : 
He far outshines him. 

Flor. Certainly in the forehead. 
Didst mark, Gioconda, how the torchlight shone 
On his bare sconce ? A proper cavaher ! 
He should have made thee dance with him, instead 
Of his slim nephew. 

Gism. He would do as well, 
( He is as lithe and active, ) did the dance 
Befit his years. 

Flor. Thou mean'st, his hairs, or rather, 
A lack of them. 

Gism. For shame ! 

Flor. Shame thou, or he. 
What does he woo thee for ? Is 't to adopt thee. 
Thou being orphan ? He might be well thy father, 
But not thy husband. Thou shouldst scorn him, Gisma 



ACT IT. SC. 2. 103 



He keeps Anselmo from thee. 

Gism. 'T is that then 
Anselmo feels inferior, as he is. 

Flor. If thou wouldst have thy lord be walking always, 
And walking /ro??i thee. Seated, face to face, 
Anselmo's head, with its long chestnut hair 

Gism. But what is in it ? Compar'd with him, Anselmo 
Is but a boy or fool. 

Flor. 0, if thou 'dst wed him 
For what is in his head ! Why not then marry 
Some well-stuff 'd book at once ? Its written pages 
Would make thy Count, too, either boy or fool. 
In fine, in seriousness, thou must be mad 
Not to see what all others round thee see, 
The ridicule of this man's proffering love 
To a mere girl like thee. Were I as thou, 
I 'd greet the would-be youngster not with smiles 
Of pleasure, but of mockery or contempt. 

Re-enter .1 from the hower, 
Uberto. 

Uber. Monna Grismonda knows not to requite 

With mockery reverence, nor has learn' d to treat 
The meanest of her servants with contempt. 

He has taken the hand which G-ismonda had frankly extended 
to him on his approach^ and now, bowing over it, 



104 UBERTO 



half-raises it to his lips, — hut only to drop it. Both shoio 

emotion ; and the gay party laugh aloud ; luhereat 

GiSMONDA indignantly separates from them, 

and again giving her hand to Uberto, 

he puts her arm through his. 

and leads her off 

to the right, 

the others going to the left. 



Flor. Quite stately ! 

Giocon. The rebuke was simply just. 



[ Exeunt. 



Scene III. 

The Study — as in Act I. Sc. I. 

Uberto 
ivalking uneasily to and fro. 

Uher. I have deserv'd it. Happily it was not 
From her lips, nor with her consent receiv'd. 
Had 't been so, 't would have cur'd me. But to find 
Her heart so good, and fill'd with kindness more 
Than I had thouR-ht for me ! And then that smile 



ACT II. SC. 8. 105 



• Of captivating- frankness ! Ah, Gismonda ! 
'T were folly to not love thee, as it has been 
Madness in me to love thee. And this night! 
Her charms — her goodness — that revolting scene ! 
Were Satan now to tempt me ! 

The form of Lucifer stands in the 
moonshine^ as in Act 7, Sc. I. 

What ! already ? 
Lueif. Ay, at thy wish I come. 

Uher. Not at my call. 
Lucif. To think what thou hast thought is call enough. 
TLou need'st me, mortal; for 't is I alone 
Can give thee thy desire. Say but the word, 
Thou shalt have manly beauty, wealth, rank, youth, 
All qualities that women most admire in men. 
Uher. For what ? 

Lucif. Thou knowest. In brief: While in the flesh 
Thou only wilt be master of thyself; 
Afterward, I shall be. 

Uher. And that for ever ? 

[ Lucifer is silent. 
I ask : for ever ? 

Lucif. What if I say, ay ? 
Uher. Then are thy offers vain : I '11 none of them. 
Lucif. [after another pause. 

Thou art hard to deal with. I will not deceive thee. 
When thou descendest to that other sphere, 
6* 



106 UBERTO 



Thy spirit will not lose its power. If then, 
After long strugghng with my master-will, 
Thou canst succeed in shaking, step by step, 
Its influence off, thou wilt once more be free, 
And haply reassume thy ancient self. 

Uher. I understand thee. That long course of trial, 
By which through many states of being I am come 
To be the thing I am, must count as nothing ; 
I must go backward in the race of soul, 
And, retrograding, take the start afresh. 
But haply with more vigor for the course, 
Because the mind can not unlearn its lore, 
ISTor wholly sink to its primeval cliildhood. 
Thou hesitatest. Have I redd thee right ? 

LucAf. Partially. 

Vber. Then I am not lost for ever ? 

Lucif. No, not for ever. But how can I assure thee? 
You mortals will not take me upon trust. 

Uher. I will — in this affair. For well I know 
Thou canst not wholly dominate my will. 
In the worst passions that thou canst inspire 
I shall somewhere be master of myself. 

Lucif. Thou art valiant. 

Uher. Sneer not. 

Lucif. Nay, I have no wish. 
In physical courage thou mayst be no hero ; 
In moral daring thou outfacest Hell. 
But to our bargain. Thou art to receive 
Thy bloom again, have wealth, high rank, and fame; 



ACT II. sc. a. 107 



For which, I shall be master of thy soul 
After this life, not for all time perhaps. 
But for long ages, and in every sphere, 
Till thou hast disen tin-all' d thyself. 

Uher. The terms 
Are terrible. Let me ponder them aivhile. 
Lucif. [indicating the mirror. 

Thou needst but look upon thy forehead yonder, 
Hear Flora's laugh, and weigh Grismonda's worth. 
[ Uherto steps up nearer to Lucifer^ 
passionately and with a gesture of desperation. 
Then be assured, wherever thou shalt be. 
Thou never wilt be little nor be low. 
Uher. I have sacrific'd my duty for her sake. 

And put in peril my good name. Why pause 
To purchase by a life of wo hereafter 
Long years perhaps of happiness here with her ? 
I am decided. Shall I sign the compact ? 
Lucif. Art thou Uberto, whom men quote as wise, 
And givest credence to that childish tale 
Of a steel point and letters writ in blood ? 
When thou accept'st my service, I become, 
Even in that act, the master of thy soul. 
Uher. Not in this life ! 

Lucif Mistrustful ! I have said, 
Not in this life, but when that life shall end. 
What shape now shall I give thee ? what degree 
Of human beauty ? 

Uher. None but what I own'd. 



108 UBEKTO 



Lucif. Thou art easily satisfied. 

Uher. [indiynantly and scornfully. 
Thou art the Devil, 
And yet thou hast not sounded all my heart. 
Were there no reason why it should not be, 
I would be beautiful as an angel wing'd, — 
As thou perhaps, before thou wast hurl'd downward. 
Lucif. What ! worm ! 

Uher. iSTot more than thou perhaps. But when 
Thou treadst on me, I turn, and am in mood 
The serpent thou art painted. 

Lucif. Pray, go on. 
Thou art heroic to dart thy fang at me. 
Uher. The first man's heel has trod upon thy head : 
'T is not so brave. 

Lucif Tush ! with thy human wit, 
Thou hast easy scope : I cannot boast proficience 
In the same tongue. Proceed, without more cavil. 
Uher. I would, I say, be beautiful; for beauty 
Is unto me the expression of what is perfect. 
As in the external form, so in the heart. 
But men would stare at me, and hint at thee. 
Lucif. True ; nor Gismonda know thee. 

Uher, Let me then 
Be but as fine a man as once I was. 
I shall be satisfied. 

Lucif Shall this be at once ? 
Uher. No, by degrees. 

Lucif. 'T is wise. The change shall be 



ACT II. SC. B. 109 



So gradual in thy hair and in thy skin, 
None shall suspect a more than natural cause. 

Uher. And for the wealth ? On that I shall insist, 
For her sake. 

Lucif. I shall first procure thy name 
The lustre thou hast toil'd for. Men shall strive 
To heap up honor on the wit and bard 
They have so long neglected. Next, thy rank 
Shall be exalted by some function high 
In the affairs of state. That wealth attends 
High place and power never moves to wonder ; 
And if it did, you men so worship gold 
You never will ask if brimstone lit the fire 
Wherein the image took its cunning mold. 
Art thou content ? 

Uher. So she be won. Not else. 

Lucif. Look in the glass. Thou seest, those large black eyes 
Graze on thee wooingly ; the short upper lip 
Thou so adorest raises its curv'd edge 
To give the mouth and the immaculate teeth 
Their most bewitching smile ; the small, round chin, 

The stately nose, the 

Uher. I could gaze for ever ! 
Give me this sorcery, if thou canst ! 

Lucif. It needs not; 
This image is not more within thy chamber. 
Than the true form shall ere a twelvemonth be. 
This should suffice thee. But I '11 give thee more. 
Thou art wise already, after man's conceit, 



110 UBERTO 

And hast that cunning which sees into the heart. 

Gisraonda's soul is open as thy books, 

And her frank speech hides nothing, 'T is not hard 

To look into her eyes and watch her lips. 

But, after marriage, thou shalt know her always. 

Thou shalt behold her absent, and shalt hear 

Her lightest accent were she miles reraov'd. 

The tree of knowledge never bore before 

Such fruit as thou shalt eat of. Kow, no .more. 

Extend thy limbs on yon day-couch, and sleep. 

XJberto obeys^ and, as the Hell-god waves his hand toward 
him, seems to fall into a tranquil slumher. 
Lucifer then moves his hand over the head and 
face of XJberto, hut ivithout 
touching them. 

Sleep, and awake for evermore unhappy. 
Thou hast parted with thy virtue like a fool, 
Hast parted with it for those baubles fools. 
Fools only, sigh for. Hell can give no worse. 

The form of the Archfiend melts away 
into the shadows of the chamber. 



ACT II. SC. 4. Ill 



Scene IV. 
The Etlicr of Heaven. 

Chant of 
Invisible Angels. 

\st Angel. 
A star has fallen ! the spirit that so long 
Wrestled in loneness, and through self-denial 
Became, though human, like an angel strong, 
Has yielded to its last, inglorious trial. 

2d A7igel. 
Wo to the race of man ! love's sweet sensation, 
Through which frail Adam unresisting fell, 
Is still the soul's most dangerous temptation. 
And woman, as when dawn'd the world's creation, 
Is oft the unconscious instrument of Hell. 

3fZ Angel. 
Wo to the fallen spirit ! what shall restore 
The stainless hue of its long purifying? 
Gone is its whiteness ; ever, ever more, 
Is sunk in self-delight its self-denying. 



112 hberto 



1st and 'Sd Angels. 
What shall restore him ? Hark, the Archangers voice 
Sounds through the distant empyrean clearly : 
"The love, for which he has sacrific'd so dearly, 
Shall, when the mangled soul has bled severely, 
Save the self-victim in return." Rejoice ! 

2d Angel. 
Hosanna to the Highest ! From all time 
God has ordain'd this moral compensation : 
The passion, whose excess has prompted crime, 
Bears, though destructive, germs of restoration, 
And often forms the spring of acts sublime. 

The Three in Chorus. 
Joy to the human race ! the fire of love. 
That sometimes blasts, is virtue's best awaking. 
The star shall rise unto its place above. 
The wounded spirit be stronger for its breaking. 



ACT III. SC. 1. 113 



Act the Third 

Scene I. As in Ad 11. Sc. I. 

Anselmo 

standing gloomily hefore the gate. 

Enter from the left^ 

Ugo. 

Ugo. The grave Anselmo ! With that clouded front 
What art thou pondering there ? 

Ansel, [after a pause. 

I '11 tell thee, Ugo. 
'T was at this gate, a twelvemonth since, I parted 
With Count Uberto. We had just descended 
Yon hill, where, at Gismonda's dainty home. 
We had met by chance, and both, as I suppose, 
Drunk freely of her beauty. Then the Count, 
With his known frankness, talking of Madonna, 
Declar'd he would not wed her if he could, 
For reasons grave, — as, his illsuited years, 
His want of wealth, bald crown and wrinkled brow, 
And urg'd me press my suit to her. Behold, 
Gismonda now is Count Uberto's wife ! 

Ugo. [laughing.'] A wondrous circumstance to ponder truly ! 



1 1 4 UBERTO 



Though 't well may make thee grave. Why, seest thou not, 

That, the conditions being no more the same, 

Our gallant Count having now both wealth and hair, 

Besides high place and wide-extended fame. 

He was not bound to keep his word. 

Ansel He was! 
He made me think, in simple prudence only, 
Looking unto the future, — when great age 
Should have impair'd his functions, while his wife 
Would yet be in her prime, — he would not wed her. 
He has deceiv'd me. 

Ugo. Then be even Avith him : 
Make love unto his wife. 

Ansel [gravely.] Thou dost forget 
Thou speakest of an honorable dame, 
And of a man, who, though in this he hath wrong'd me, 
Has ever been my good friend, and is still. 

Ugo. Thou art over nice. One day, thou 'It change thy mind. 

Ansel Xever in this, while I am in my mind. 

Ugo. Well, well. But this same change of which I spoke : 
How very odd, that, after being bald 
For several years, Uberto should regain 
His fallen locks, have all his wrinkles gone. 
And be, in look, to the full, as young as thou, 
Whom haply he might sire ! I sometimes think 
The Devil might explain it. 

Ansel. So not I. 
His hair has been these six months growing out. 
'Tis known he dabbles in the chemic art : 



ACT III. SC. 1. 115 



He may have found some unguent to promote it. 
As for his brow, his new increase of flesh 
Would rub out wrinkles that were never deep. 
Joy and his great success might do the rest. 
His person always has been young ; myself 
Have often wish'd its lightness and its ease. 
In that he is not altered. 

Ugo. Not in that. 
But did his unguent get for him his wealth ? 
It might, if he would sell it : bald gallants, 
That would have hair again, would freely bleed 
To have the secret, 

Ansel. Why not ask as well, 
If it had got him his great fame and rank ? 
They both were sudden; and his sudden wealth 
Was but the natural sequence ; if indeed 
It was 80 sudden. Men are often prone 
To underrate their riches ; and his sire 
Was thought, they tell me, to have ample means. 

Ugo. Be it so. But for this fancied joy, Anselmo, 
I do not see it. He could not be more sad 
If he had bought his honors with his soul. 

Ansel. Shame ! There are passionate natures in which joy 
May be too deep for utterance, men whose souls 
May wear this sadness from excess of bliss. 

Ugo. If there be any such — as much I doubt — 
Tliou knowest Uberto's is not of them. His 
Would show excess of joy by overflowing. 
Either his conscience is at work, or, mark I 



116 UBERTO 



This marriage is not bappy on one side. 
Ansel That side is not Gisraonda's. She regards hin 

With a devotion often makes me sigh. 
Ugo. Which may not be in vain. Unless the Devil 

Hath given indeed her spouse his youth forever, 

She one day tires ; and then, thou 

Ansel. Messer Ugo, 

I have reminded thee of whom thou speakest, 

And unto whom. We have been excellent friends, 

And shall be long, I trust : but, so to be, 

These libertine hints must cease. [Exit to the left. 
Ugo. [looking after him.] Is 'tso indeed ? 

Either thou art a hypocrite, or fool. 

Why stand'st thou musing at the lady's gate ? 

Why sighest so often, -r- as thou sayst, to mark 

Her lawful love ? I see in thee the cloud 

Shall throw a shadow on Uberto's joy. 

[Exit to the right. 



ACT III. SC. 2. 117 

Scene II. 
A room in the castle of Uberto. 

GiSMONDA. GrOCONDA. 

Giocon. How gay thou art, Gismonda ! 

Gism. Is that new ? 

Giocon. No, thou wast alway laughing. But thy mirth 
Seem'cl, in thy maiden state, of hghter sort ; 
The frank expression of an innocent heart, 
Pleas'd with itself and all things round it. Now, 
Thy gaiety has more dejDth, as if thy soul 
Was overflow'd with happiness. Is it so ? 

Gism. How canst thou ask me ? Seest thou not, my lord 
Is ever at my side, the most devoted. 
As the most passionate of lovers. 

Giocon. Yet, 
The saddest too. 

Gis7n. He Avas so from the first. 
And to say truth, Gioconda, 't was this sadness 
Did most to win my heart. It is so sweet 
To know one's self belov'd, one loves in turn 
Almost unconsciously. When, some months ago, 
The pensiveness I had at times observ'd 
Steal over his gayest mood when I was near, 



118 UBERTO 

Making him absent-minded, so that oft 
He answer' d me at random, or scarce spoke, 
When I observ'd this deepen, and behev'd. 
In my vain httle heart, 't was all for me, 
The interest he had known to waken in me. 
So fine a man, so polish'd, and so good, 
Became less tranquil and more warm. There needed 
Scarcely the restoration of those locks 
Whose loss deform 'd his head and made him old, 
Nor 3^et those honors the consciousness of which 
Makes dignified his step ; there needed not 
Any of this to win my maiden heart : 
His sadness for the love of me did all. 
Qiocon. But why should it remain ? He is more sad, 

Now after marriage, than he was before. 
Oism. Because he loves me better than before. 
Qiocon. Thou simpleton ! His sadness, if for love, 
Was for a love that wanted yet success, 
Or for its hopelessness, as then he deem'd. 
Now it has won its object, this should cease. 
Besides, it is remark'd in every place. 
And at all times, and more where thou art not 
Than when he is fasten' d to thy side. Dost know 
What Flora and her careless suitor Ugo 
Say of this humor ? 

Gism. No. What do they say ? 
Giocon. Thou wilt be vex'd. 

Gism. Nay, that I cannot be 
With the ill words of either. 



ACT III. SC. 2. 1]9 



Giocon. And thou then 
Wilt not be angry ? 

Gism. Surely not with thee. 

Giocon. But 

Gism. Now indeed, indeed, thou dost but tease me, 
Thinking to make me long the more to know. 
I will not listen, save thou tell at once. 
What said they of his sadness ? 

Giocon. 'T is not I, 
Eemember, say it, Gisma ! — This they said : 
The Count had made a compact with the Devil 
To win thee, and was mourning for the terms. 
Look not with such contemptuous anger, Gisma ; 
'T was but a foolish jest. 

Gism. This of my lord ! — 
Do those that bargain with the Devil pray ? 
Giocon. No, surely; 'twould destroy them. 

Gism. Tell them then, 
My husband does. Last night I heard my name 
Breath'd in his closet, and, thinking I was call'd, 
Approach'd the door, but only to o'erhear 
My lord invoking blessings on my head. 
Tell that ; and thou mayst add to it, that I 
Retired thereon to mine, and, kneeling down, 
Pray'd Heaven's best favors on his head in turn. 
Giocon. Thou art weeping, Gisma ! 

Gism. Ay, as when I prayVL 
'T is not for sorrow. — Did the Count Anselmo 
Credit this wicked malice? 



120 UBERTO 



Giocon. No, I think not. 
Gism. No, I am sure not ! Tell not thou my lord. 

And yet thou mayst ; 't might win from him a smile. 
Lo, where he comes. He does indeed look sad. 
Yet what a presence ! Dear, thou shalt excuse me : 
I '11 run to him and chase that cloud aw^ay. 

Exit, — Gioconda looking pensively 
after her. 



ACT IV. SC. 1. 121 



Act the Fourth 

Scene I. The study. As in Act I. Sc. I. 

Uberto. 

I may not doubt it longer: she I love, 
The mother of my children, and my wife, 
For whose possession I gave up all hereafter, 
And here my peace of mind, is mine no more 
Save in the bonds of flesh. Anselmo's manhood 
Unbroken yet by years, and his long love, 
Whose fire gives out its light through countless chinks 
Himself sees not, but she has learn'd to mark 
As well as I, have won the yet young heart 
I am too old to fill. Thou juggling fiend ! 
Who gav'st me but the semblance of my youth, 
While life went on slow-ebbing as before, 
Are these the terms I made ? Ten years are gone. 
And should have brought me to that point of time 
Where thou didst find me : now my hair is gray. 
My strength sore minish'd. Thou didst set indeed 
The shadow backward which life's dial mark'd ; 
But the sun's light mov'd on for me the same. 
Why hast thou kept thy promise in all else ? 
Honors, titles, wealth are mine ; but gone the heart 

Vol. II.— 6 



122 UBERTO 



For which alone I sought them; and for this, — 

That thou hast kept thy compact but in word. 

I have call'd thee to a reckoning ; and thou com'st not. 

But thou shalt know I will not thus be wrong'd 

Without resistance : must I yield my soul, 

The price of its submission shall be paid, 

Else is it free. I '11 call thee once again. 

Come, though thou come in thunder and the smoke 

Of deepest Hell ! so that thou blast not her, 

I reck not. Grive me but to see thy face. 

Though swollen w^ith anger, though thou wear the mien 

With which thou didst confront the Archangel Michael, 

When taken in thy plot and Heaven's pavement 

Was clear'd of thy audacious footstep ! come ! 

With all thy horrors, come ! I '11 brave, bear all, 

All but this anguish of the tortur'd heart 

Which will not break. [Pauses.] Thou wilt not answer me, 

My call, nor my defiance. Thou hast all, 

Thou think'st, that thou didst bid for, and art glad 

That I am cheated by a lying bait. 

But thy fiends-malice has not full effect : 

That fatal gift to read Gismonda's heart, 

Which my vainglory welcom'd, and thou didst hope 

Would make the measure of my wo run over. 

Has been but half pernicious : I have found 

No wilful error in her innocent heart, 

Only that physical yearning nature prompts 

And the harsh counsels of religious faith 

And reason in her are too frail to check, 



ACT IV. SC. ]. 123 



Albeit they chide it hourly. This to see, 

Now fills me for my own sake with despair 

And grieves me to the heart for thee, Grismonda, 

Who wouldst be true, but canst not. Thou hast ask'd me, 

Often, why I am sad. I could not tell thee 

Of my remorse and of my ruin'd soul. 

Were I to answer now, 't was that I saw 

Thy heart was opening to another love, 

And soon would shut out mine, thoii'dst deem me mad ; 

So far art thou from seeing to what thy blood 

And thy young senses urge thee, though the gulf 

Is visible to my eyes as broad as day 

And deep as Hell. I would the grave's full night 

May be around me, ere tliou downward plunge ! 

Yet, thou art good and pious, and thy pure soul 

May keep thee from that ruin, and passionate grief, 

Or brooding melancholy, worse than death. 

Hold thee suspended pining at the verge. 

Still, 't is a thought to drive me desperate-mad, 

This loss of thy aflfection, for whose sake 

I have sacrific'd the harvest of my life, 

All I have planted and have nurs'd so long 

With my heart's sweat and tears. If now to die 

Were not to hurry me to that unknown sphere 

Of horror to which, rebellious and ingrate 

To God and duty, I have given myself. 

And the least thought whereof, now that my blood 

Is less distemper'd, makes me cold with fear, 

And with a loathing that is stronger still ; 



124 UBERTO 



Were 't not for this, the debt I have incurr'd 

For thy dear sake, Gismonda, I would now 

Let me not think on it ; enougli ah'eady 

I have sinn'd, without self-murder. We must bear 

The burden and incumbrance of my age. 

Both of us, till that natural term shall come 

Which binds me to my fate, and sets thee free. 

He moves slowly up the stage, with head 
depressed — Aiid Scene closes. 



Scene II. 
As in Act II. Sc. I. and in Act III. Sc. I. 

Anselmo and Ugo 

meeting. 

Ugo. At the same spot again we are met, Anselmo, 
Where ten years since, and on this very day, 
I gave thee warning. How demure thou lookedst ! 
Thou wouldst not listen, but, with knitted brow 
And haughty bearing, turning short away, 
Bad'st me remember who Gismonda was, 
And who Uberto, and who. Heaven help us ! thou. 



ACT IV. SC. 2. 125 



HoAV is it with thee now ? and with Uberto ? 
And Avith Gismonda ? 

Ansel. Ah ! I see thy drift. 
Warning ? Thou didst incite me to a love 
That was dishonor. 

Ugo. Art thou not in love ? 
And is 't my doing? 

Ansel. In love with whom ? Speak out. 

Ugo. Tliou wouldst not like it : 't is not nice in sound 
To say one loves his friend's wife over well. 

Ansel And sayst thou that of me ? 

Ugo. A thousand things 
Might say it of thee, Count Anselmo Mozzo, 
Had they but tongues as I ; as, for example. 
The bust Uberto wrought of her in marble 
With his own hands; whereon I have seen thee gaze — 
Not like a stone. And then, that pcncil'd head 
Done after memory, ere their marriage, where 
Her pro hi' d features have their loftiest grace. 
Earnest and full of thought, — who was it saw thee 
Making thy unbreath'd vows of love to that, 
And blush'd that she so saw thee? Which I noted. 
And Flora with me ; and we drew therefrom 
Certain conclusions, comforting to thee, 
But not to Count Uberto. 

Ansel. If thou meanest, 
Ugo de' Pazzi, that I love that lady 
More than is seemly, and that she, this knowing, 
Does with full consciousness thereto incite me. 



126 UEEKTO 



Thou dost, witliout the shadow of a cause, 
Malign her grossly, and to me thy friend 
Show'st thyself wanting in that faith a friend 
Should have, or he is none, in my tried honor. 

Ugo. I have at least one quality, Anselmo, 

That fits a friend, — forbearance ; but for which, 

Well might I quarrel with a tone and mien 

The more offensive that thou at all times 

Art grave and calm. Who did impugn thy faith, 

Or the known virtue of Uberto's spouse ? 

I simply said, — thou lov'st her, and she sees it. 

Ansel. That I deny. I never had a thought 
To show her love. 

Ugo. Yet show it thou dost still ; 
And all the more for that thou giv'st thy heart 
At no time audible vent. If thou dost not, 
Wiiy then I never yet made love to Flora, 
Or better, Flora ne'er made love to me. 

Ansel. Talk soberly, if thou canst, two minutes' space. 

Ugo. More than that. Hear me. Has Gismonda eyes ? 
Sees she not Count TJberto ag'd, — gray-hair'd, 
Loose-skinn'd and wrinkled and unsure of step. 
And looking older for a constant gloom, 
Whose cloud appears to thicken ? while thy mien 
If grave is tranquil, and thou bear'st with lightness 
And no unseemly change thy middle age. 
AY ell, it is not in nature that the love 
Of a fine woman, in the prime of life, 
Should on an old man rest, when one of years 



ACT IV. SC. 2. 121 



More meet is yearning for her as thou dost, 
And as she sees and feels, do what thou wilt, 
Or think'st thou wilt, thy yearning to conceal. 
Anselmo, on my honor, which is fair 
As thine is, I advise thee, leave this scene 
Before thou make two persons more unhappy 
Than now I know they are. [going. 
Ansel [Ugo tarrying as he speaks.'] And is it thou, 
Ugo de' Pazzi, who, ten years now gone. 
Here by this gate, advis'd me do that wrong 
Which now thou fearest I have done, or shall do ? 
What has chang'd thee? 

Ugo. Ten years, if I am chang'd. 
I spake then as a bachelor. I now 
Preach in the interest of that threaten'd class 
Whereof I am one. Take warning! \_Exit to the left. 
Ansel. [ after a moment.'] Would I could ! 
But thou hast prob'd my secret over well. 
And with thy assum'd disclosure of her own 

Made thrill my blood But is it hers indeed? 

Has she divin'd my passion? And does it wake 

In her pure breast an answering Help me God ! 

ISTor let the simple pleasure of such thought 
Hush reason's voice, high honor, and thy law. 

\_Exit to the right^ slowli/, and with 
head cast down. 



128 UBERTO 



Scene III. 

As in Act I. Scene II. 

Lucifer. Sammael. 

Samm. Is 't that which makes thee smile ? 
Lucif. Is that a wonder ? 

This creature, who might tremble at the thunder, 

If the red bolt should come within a mile 

Of his weak-jointed walls of stone, 

Dares summon me with haughty tone 

As if I were his slave ; nor that alone, 

But hurls defiance at me for my guile ! 

Guile ! Yet the terms we made were of his choosing. 

He might have ask'd for all his mortal life 

Unfading youth, both for himself and Avife, 

Without the risk of my refusing. 

He would seem young, to win her. She was won. 

'T is not my doing, that he is undone. 

Why growls the dog at my misusing ? 
Samm. And is it this contents thee ? 

Lucif. No, not all. 

I smile to see this glowworm, who exulted 

In the bright gift I gave him Avithout asking. 



ACT IV. SC. 3. 129 



Worn by the heart's conthiual overtasking, 
Find small delight from wisdom has resulted, 
But, as with Adam, at the so- call' d Fall, 
X The fruit of moral lore, at first alluring, 
Has in its taste no sweet that is enduring. 
And to the soul proves bitterer than gall. 
Not all the misery, which the mere forsaking 
Of the long-worship'd altars of his God 
Has given him hourly, has outpang'd the aching 
His spirit felt, when, from its daydream waking, 
It found a woman's heart was flesh and blood. 

Savwi. What will he do ? 

Lucif. Ask what but now he did. 
But for his dread of the unknown hereafter, 
He would sheer o'er the precipice have slid 
That bounds the gulf between him and his fate, 
And, by an act forbid 
To the self-torturing zealots of his creed. 
Upon the doom, that waits him soon or late, 
Have rush'd with frantic speed. 
Amid Hell's laughter. 

Samm. The deed deferr'd may yet in time be done. 

Lucif. That shall I hasten. Ere around the sun 
Man's petty globe has many times revolv'd, 
The problem shall be solv'd 

He has dar'd to raise between us ; and this thing 
Shall learn 't is dangerous tampering 
For such as he with supernatural aid, 

And that the fools who with the Devil would trade 
6* 



130 UBERTO 



Must more than double eyesight with them bring. 

[Exeunt Lucif. and Samm.y 

and the Choir of Spirits 
is heard withiii. 

1st Spirit. 
What can the insects bring 

Sprung of Earth's mire, 
Who from Heh's awful king 

Seek their desire ? 

Id Spirit. 
Shall that which knows no date 

Gruide the diurnal ? 
Can the sun's child be mate 

With the eternal ? 

3cZ Spirit. 
As, in their orb of clay, 

Drops on a river, 
So shall they melt away, 

Swallow'd for ever — 

Chor7is. 
Where from the fathomless 

Ocean of fire 
Rises the sulphur-cloud 

Higher and higher. 



ACT Y. sa 1. 131 



Act the Fifth 

Scene I. A71 anteroom in the Castle of Uherto. 
Night. 

GrlSMONDA. AnSELMO. 

Ansel. Ask me not why, Madonna. Are our moods 

Always the same, or always at command ? 
Gism. No, or I hope I should not need inquire 
Why Count Anselmo for two days has been 
So absent-minded, gloomy, and reserv'd. 
Yet have we done our best to make his stay 
Pleasant as usual. 

Ansel. True ; nor Count Uberto, 
ISTor thou, dear lady, hast neglected aught 
To dissipate my sadness. On the morrow 
Suffer me take my leave. 

G-isvi. [with emotion.] So soon ? 

Ansel Thou 'dst add 
And so abruptly ? But 't is better thus : 
M}'- malady is stronger than I deem'd. 
Gism. Art thou not well ? [same tone. 

Ansel. A sickness of the mind. 
Not here, Madonna, must I seek the cure, 
Where — thou art. 



3 32 UBERTO 



Gism. Let us join our friends, [going. 
Ansel. Stay, dearest lady ; let me ask in turn 

Why thou of late art sad. Art thou not well ? 
Gisin. Should I not answer too, in thy own words : 

Can we be gay at will ? or always gay ? 
Ansd. No, 't would not be to answer as thyself; 

For thou hast still been frank since first I knew thee. 
Would I had been ! 

Gism. What should that say, Messere ? 
Ansel. — Or prompter ! 

Gism. Sir ! 

Ansel. — But now it is too late. 
Gism. Let us join Monna Flora and the rest. 
We have been too long away. 

Ansel. Thou : I can not. 
Thou wilt permit me to retire, Madonna. 
To-morrow, I shall bid farewell. 

Gism. [faintly.'] To-morrow ? 
Have I displeas'd thee ? 

Ansel. Thou ? displease me, lady ? 
Alas ! thou hast known to please me over well ! 
Pardon this madness. Look not so confounded. 
I know not what I say. What was 't I said ? 
Gism. [collecting herself, — hut luith difficulty. 
Art thou distracted ? 

Ansel. Yes, I am distracted ; 

I have been so many months — since Let me hence, 

Before I speak what never should be spoken. 
Never to thee. 



ACT V. SC. 1. 133 



Gism.. Heaven ! [sinking into a cliair^ and cov- 
ering her face with her hands. 
Ansel. Can it be ? 
Weep'st thou, Madonna? [kneeling before her and attempf- 

ing to take her hand. 
Gism. [preserving same attitude. 
Leave me, thou unhappy ! 
Ansel. Yes, yes, unhappy ; yet, how happy too ! 

Thou knowest my passion now. For twelve long years, 
Before perhaps my bolder, happier rival 
Conceiv'd a thought of making tliee his own, 

I, dear G-ismonda 

Gism. [-who has alreadg dropped her hands luith 
a look of dismay^ — now recoiling 
from him.] Ah, 't was said in time ! 
Thou dost remind me who and what I am. [rising. 
Rise, Count Anselmo, and henceforth remember, 
He whom thou call'st thy rival is my lord. 
Nor so degrade thy honorable self 
As to descend to thoughts and acts and words 
'T would make thee cower with shame to have him know. 

[going. 
Ansel. Hear me ! — one word ! — but one ! 

Gism. Not on this theme ; 
A thousand on aught else, [a^ain turning to go. 
Ansel. 'T was but to pray, 

Humbly and from the heart, thy pardon. But 

Gism. No ! nothing more ! I will not risk, for thee 
Nor for myself, a single phrase might add 



134 UBERTO 

To this night's shame. 

Ansel. Alas! I had thought. Madonna 

Gism. Think nothing, Count — nothing again of this — 
Which now, thank Grod ! is ended — and forever I 
This shall secure it. By the cross, I swear, 
If ever from this time thou look again. 
Or speak, as thou hast spoken and look'd but now, 
To my remorse and to my lord's dishonor, 
I never will exchange word with thee more! 
Ansel, [after a pause.'] 'T is cruel ; but 't is right. I will obey. 
[She extends her hand to him ; but, on 
his offering to lift it to his lips, 
luithdraws it hastily. 
Crism. Ah ! thou forgett'st already. We must do more. 
To-morrow, Flora and thy friend her lord 
Take their departure. With them goes Gioconda. 
Seize thou this pretext and make one with them. 
Then travel for some months ; no matter where, 
So that we meet not soon. 

Ansel. For many months! 
Gism. Hush! it must be. Thou wouldst not forfeit all ? 
My friendship shall go with thee, my esteem. 
Now leave me — quick, — in pity to thyself. 

[Exit Ansel. 
Gism. [after he has completely disappeared. 

And unto me. Hadst thou had less command 

Over thyself, or hadst been modest less 

But if thou wert less modest, could I — like thee ? 
As I do now, more than befits me do, 



ACT V. SC. 2. 13i 



Or I dare own, by name, even to myself. — 
But I will root this growing weakness out : 
It shall not make me, more than now I am, 
False to my Grod, my husband, and myself, 

[Exit, as the Scene shifts to 



Scene II. 

The Study. As in Act I. Sc. I. 

Uberto 

clasping his hands together tuith an 

expression of relief 

Uher. The agony is over! thou hast eonquer'd. 
Thy spirit is good, Gismonda, as I thought it, 
And far more strong. Thou shalt have thy reward. 

[ Rings a small handbell. 
Enter a Servant. 
Bid come to me thy lady. 

Servt. [ luith emharrassment 
Signor Count, 
She is with the Count Anselmo. 

Uher. Was, but now. 



136 UBERTO 



The Count has left. Bid come to me thy lady. 

[Uxit Servant. 
The rumbling of distant thunder. 
Uberto moves slowly to the open casement^ and looking 
out a moment^ sloivly returns. 

The lake is blackening, and the angry clouds 
Come onward fast. I could have rather chosen 
To leave this sphere, whose beauty I so love, 
When the sweet moon was spreading all around 
Her magic light and shadow, or the stars 
Were looking on me with their calm bright eyes. 
But when the mind is fix'd on its own thoughts, 
It matters little that outward things wear not 
The dress we like : I shall not see the darkness; 
And the loud thunder and the rushing wind, 
If heard at all, will seem to sound my dirge. 

Enter Gismonda. 
She ai^pears conscious and embarrassed. 

Gism. My lord — thou hast sent 

Uber. Be reassur'd, Gismonda. 
I have sent for thee to praise thee, not to chide. 
Thou hast been tempted, and hast stood the proof. 
Look not aghast : she who has not been tried 
Cannot be counted virtuous, albeit 
In life she may be chaste. But thou art both. 

[ taking her hand in both his^ 
while her embarrassment increases. 



ACT V. SC. 2. 1-^7 



Thou art my faithful partner, and shalt find 
I can reward thee. I would bid thee kiss me ; 
But 't were to put thee to an act of pain. 
Gism. My lord! ray lord! [ahoid to kiss him. 

He gently puts her back. 
Uher. No, no ; thy heart would n >t 
Go with it, as I deem'd it did of old. 
Let me kiss thee. Thou pure and good Gismonda, 
Whom I have so much wrong'd to marry — it was 
M}'^ sole act that was selfish ; but my last 
Shall make atonement for it — stoop to me, 
Thou whom I love so well. [ He is about to kiss her- 
on the lips ; hit he only touches 
hei' forehead.^ Thus. It is now 
As it should be, and only should have been, 
A father's kiss to a good and tender child 
Cherish'd as she deserves. And now — good night. 
God's blessing on thee, my Gismonda ! And if — 

And if 

Gism. What means my lord ? Art thou not well 
To-night, Tiber to ? 'T is a fearful night. 

Thunder heard. Gismonda shrinking and 
clinging to Uberto. 

Let me be with thee. Oh, do not put me from thee ! 
It was not so of old ! 

Uber. No, not of old. 
But am I as I was of old ? 

Gism. My lordl 



138 UBERTO 



Uher. Speak not, Gismonda, counter to the sense 

Which the heart warrants. Hush ! thou knowest not 

Thyself as I know thee. Thy soul is good 

And generous as it ever was — were 't not, 

Could I have lov'd thee, as I have lov'd and love ? — 

But there is that in it which was not once ; 

No double image can divide it ; where 

Anselmo is, [She hides her face.] Uberto cannot be. 

It is but natural. Hence, I blame thee not. 

Thou feelest, this night, a sympathy for me ; 

Thou 'dst be with me, and, with a woman's care, 

Wouldst watch my fever, as thou think'st it, well: 

But in the solemn hours, when I was still, 

Thy heart would beat for him ; and on the morrow 

Tempted again — nay, answer not — would find 

Perchance less power to resist. Gro then. 

To-morrow thou wilt learn to know me better, 

To esteem me better, than thou dost, to love 

As thou canst love me ; that thou canst not more 

Is not of thee. Good night ! 

He jmts her genthj and courteously from the room. 
It is now over. 
The last look of those eyes, for whose dear light 
I have given my soul forever, has departed. 
And the world henceforth is all black to me. 
Farewell. I have borne it better than I thought. 

The thunder J which has been heard at intervals^ 
now increases in frequency 
and loudness. 



ACT V. SC. 2. 139 



The storm comes nearer. Tiiou, whose awful voice 
Speaks in these turbulent elements ; but not more 
Than in the softest whisper of the breeze ; 
Thou, whom I dare not pray to bear me up, 
As in my hours of trouble once I us'd, 
Suffer me on my knees to cry for them, 
My innocent wife and children, [kneeling. 

Spare them, God ! 
Nor let the father and the husband's sins 
Be, through men's hands, nor through the engender'd 

taint 
Of the soul's passions, visited on their heads. 
Thy lightnings do not blast me as I kneel. 
Perhaps Thou wilt have mercy, though condemning 
In justice my great crime, and make more brief 
My horrible probation and that scale 
Of the soul's painful reascent to virtue 
Whereto I have given myself — alas ! for nought. 
That I precipitate this selfwill'd fate. 
Impute not unto me for added sin. 
Even for that end I seek — which is not nought. 
He rises. 
One more adieu to ye, dear native hills ! 
going to the casement. 
Then^ after a few moments^ returning. 
The thunder's flash reveals them and the lake, 
Not in their gladsome aspect, like to her. 
But lurid as my fate. Perhaps 't is well : 
We part Avith less regret. Good night, forever! 



140 UBERTO 



My soul shall haply bear with it no trace 
Of all life imag'd on it, fair or foul. 

He takes a poniard from a shelf and hares it. 
This is my last of instruments. Nor book, 
Pencil, nor chisel, e'er wrought such effect 
As this, which in an instant, with one stroke, 
Severs the chain that separates the world 
On which I stand from that to which I go. 
But for our doubts, how few of us would pause 
Who find this hfe what I of late have done ! 
Looking on the blade. 
I would that thou hadst given my heart, Gismonda, 
No worse a pang than this sharp knife will cause. 
Stabs himself. 

As he sinks in an arm-chair 
Enter Gismonda. 

Gism. What didst thou mean, my lord ? Thou hast filFd my 
soul 
With strange forebodements — [Observing his state as she 

approaches^ hastens to him. 

Thou art my God ! 

What means this blood ? 

Tiber, [smiling on her.'] Thy strange forebodements prov'd 
Truer — than most are. But the knife struck — false. 

[throwing down the poniard. 
Gism. [shrieking. 

Ah ! — Help there ! 



ACT V. SC. 2. 141 



Uher. 'T will be useless. Yet thoucomest — 
Thou dear Gismonda — as — I could have wish'd. 

Gism. Oh God ! — Help ! — Speak not. Let me 

[ endeavoring wildly to stay the Mood. 
Uher. 'T is in vain. 
The blow was — sure, if not 

Enter ^ hurriedly^ 

Flora, Gioconda, Ugo, 

and immediately after, from another door^ 

Anselmo. 

Ugo. Who did this deed ? 
Uber. I only — for — for her sake, good Anselmo — 
xind — and for thine. 

Gism. Call in the children ! 

Uher. No — 
There is no time — I kiss'd them ere they slept. 
I should be dead, before — before they came. 
And pity it were — to wake them — who can sleep 
In such a storm, — to look upon a sight 
'T were best they should not see. Let them not know — 
If so it may be — I died by my own hand. 
Are these thy tears, Anselmo ? Be a friend — 
A good friend to my — children : they are hers. 
Raise me. Were 't not — for one thought — I could die — 

A flash of lightning enters through the casement^ 

succeeded instantly by the rattle of thunder. 

Uberto stands up from the chair. 



142 UBERTO 



I come ! — [falling forward. 

Gism. Ubevto ! [swoons over him. 
Uber. — Happy, [Dies. 

Ugo. What an end ! 

Anselmo, falling on one Icnee^ covers his face 
u'ith both hands. Giogonda stoops 
to raise the senseless form of G-ismonda. 
Ugo and Flora stand in differ- 
ent attitudes of 
horror.^ 



Scene ITI. 



A part of the ethereal space beyond the atmosphere 
of Earth. 

Archangel Michael. Lucifer. 

Mich. Hence to thy proper realm ! 

Lucif And this to me, 

Who once in Heaven stood before thee ? 
Mich. I might deplore thee, 

Unhappy ! but for what 1 see. 

Why hast thou sought this spirit to enchain ? 



ACT V. SC. 3. 143 



Lucif. Because the worm had sold himself to be 
My vassal after death, and shall remain 
Subject forever to the laws I have given, 
Until by his self-struggling he regain 
His former human heart and human brain, — 
When thou mayst take him if thou wilt to Heaven. 
His last expenditure of blood, I wot, 
Will not have much improv'd therein his lot. 

Mich. Thou miserable scoffer ! who Avith jests 
Striv'st to conceal the anguish of thy soul. 
And thy outbreaking passion to control, — 
I scarce can think thou art that mighty one 
Who stood with me in order next the Son, 
When in the star-strown region of the skies 
The unfinish'd Earth began to roll, — 
Whom even the Seraphim accounted wise. 
Know that this being's self-sacrifice arrests 
The doom which else had on his soul descended 
Who for another's good himself divests 
Of his last blessing, and, deliberate, 
Forestalls the horrors of an awful fate 
To make that other happy, though too late. 
Has by the sacrifice his fault amended. 
And the All- Just his soul will reinstate 
In its first partial good. 

Lucif. It shall not be ! 

Mich. It is. Look back, and see 

The spirit rescued from thy thrall forever. 

Lucif. Curse on the perjur'd slave ! 



144 UBERTO 



Mich. It was not he : 
Curse thine own craft : 

Thou art thyself thy own forsworn deceiver. 
'T was this alone at which tliy demons laugli'd. 
Hadst thou but given this man his youth indeed, 
The woman would have lov'd him still, and thou 
Have held his spirit still bounden, nor, as now, 
Have had thy head bruis'd by Eve's hated seed. 
Lucif. [departing. 

I yet shall meet him, in some other sphere. 
Mich. And baffled find thyself again — as here. 

[Exeunt di^erent ways. 



ISrOTES 



NOTES TO UBERTO 



1. — p. 142. I come ! — etc. etc.] This is the catastrophe as it was 
first designed. But while writing, it occurred to me, that, besides 
the thunderbolt to which Uherio answers as if it were a sum- 
mons, another might be made to strike him and at the same time 
Gismonda. Such a catastrophe would be more tragic, and more — 
to my impression — in the true spirit of tragedj'. The objection to 
it lies in the unpleasant effect it would have on the mind of the 
reader, whose disappointment would be greater even than his 
surprise, which itself would be painful. 

I come ! [falling funcard.] — now happy. [Dies. 

Gisrn. TJberto ! [Sicoons over him. 
At that tJistant, another flash apj^ears to strike the bodies. 

Giocon. Ah ! 

Flor. The bolt 
Has struck them both together ! 

Ugo. ^^^lat an end I 
AXSELMO, falling on one knee, hangs over the body of 
G-ISMONDA, lohile the rest stand in vai'ions 
attitvdes of horror. 



PS. Dec. 22, 18G8. 

I see I have used, above, the word " reader." The piece was not 
intended for representation. Yet it might easily be adapted to the 
stage ( in a day when less of bustle shall be required in the action 
than at present, ) by omitting the Sd Scene of Act V., and perhaps 
the 4th of Act lY., or by removing the Choruses altogether. 



PEEFACE 



TO 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 



Twenty years ago, wlien for the first time I redd the play of 
Sancho Ortiz de las Roelas, not knowing then how improperly it was 
ascribed to Lope de Yega,* its subject, which is wholly Lope's, 
. struck me as one of the noblest that could be selected for the 
Stage, and I entered it in the list of those which I had set 
down for themes of future composition. My opinion is not altered, 
and having, since the completion of my own piece, goue over the Cid 
of Corneille and its original, I think that there can be no comparison 
between Lope's design, certainly under its modern guise, and the very 

* It is the first play in tlie collection El Teatro E-ipailol, published in London 
in 1817, where it appears under the double title, " Sancho Ortiz de las Eoelas, b 
La Estrella de Sevilla, Trageclia de Lojie Felix de Vega Carpio.'''' The commen- 
tator merely teUs us in a foot-note, "Este drama es uno de los arreglados por 
Don Candido Maria Trigueros." But, as I shall presently show, we should have 
almost as much right to call the Cid of Corneille a translation from Las Mocedades 
of Guillen de Castro, as this a mere adaptation of the Estrella of Lope. 



150 PKEFACE TO 



similar but inferior one of that part of Castro's double play* 

* Las Mocedades del Cid is divided into two Parts, or rather is composed of two 
plays of which each forms a Part under that general title. It is the first alone 
of these divisions that gave origin to the famous drama of Le Cid. But there is 
another play on the same subject by another Spanish dramatist, contemporary 
with Comeille, El Honrador de su padre of J. B. Diamante, which is so like the 
French tragi-comedy ( as Comeille originally, and rightly, termed his piece ) that 
it has given rise to a very curious question as to which of the two borrowed of the 
other, and this notwithstanding the priority of publication is by twenty-three 
years in favor of Corneille. For aught I know, it is not yet decided. ( a ) It was 
not, to some men's thinking, in 1856 ; for Lemcke, whose Haiulbuch der Spaii- 
itichen Literatur was published in that year ( Leipzig, in 8°. ) has in his third vol- 
ume ( p. 291 ) a note in which he refers without disapprobation to Von Schack's 
opinion that Corneille was really indebted to Diamante. Tliis latter critic, in his 
GeHcMchte der dramatischen Literatur ti. Kunst in Spanien, (Berlin, 8°, 1845, 6,) 
had at first (2"" Band, S. 431. Anm.) maintained the contrary, but, the succeed- 
ing year, in his third volume ( p. 372, sq. ), he took back his first assertion, on the 
gi-ound that Diamante's play hears too rtxxich the traits of an original loork, and 
is too tJioroughly Sjianish in its style, to let us suijpose it an imitation of a foreign 
model. "Bei naherer Priifung des Honrador de su ijodre hat sich uns aber nun 
die Ueberzeugung aufgedrangt, dass dieses Stiick zu sehr die Ziige eines Original- 
werks trlige und zu durchgehends im Spanischen Nationalstyl gehalten sei, als 
dass man an Nachahmung eines auslandischen VorbUdes denken konnte, und 
dieser innere Grund erscheint als geniigeud, um audi olme entsprechende aussere 
Daten die Abfassung vor das Jahr 163(3, in welchem Corneille's Cid erschien, zu 
setzen." This is a most extraordinary assumption. In no case, should we have 
the right to accept merely internal evidence as conclusive ; but, when it conflicts 
with positive facts as to time, it should be set aside without hesitation. There is 
no reason why a Spanish author should not borrow a certam form of words to a 
certain extent, and copy certain traits, as well as the management of certain 
scenes, from a French author, and yet preserve throughout the national cliarac- 

( a ) It is strange to me, that, with a date so modern as the middle of the 17th century, there is not some 
testimony among Spanish writers of the period to put this matter beyond controversy. Fontenelle says 
( Vie de Corneille. — Oeuvres de P. C. Paris 1834 ) : "Corneille avail dans son cabinet cette piece traduite 
eii toutes les laiigues de I'Europe, hors I'esclavone et la furque .... EUe ^tait eu italien et, ce qui est 
plus ctonnant, en espapnol ; les Espagnols avaient bien voulu copier eux-mfimes une piece dont I'original 
leur appartenait." Supposing this to be correct, — for, observe, Corneille himself does not aver it ; he 
mentions in his notice merely the Italian, Flemish and English, ( ..." les traductions qu'on en a faitca 
en toutes les langues qni eervent aujoura'hui a la seine, et chcz tous les peuples oJ» Ton voit des th^fiires, j* 
venxdiie, CD italien, flamand, el anglais . ■ '' ) — supposing this grave assertion to be faithful, is not that 
translation in Spanish somewhere extant ? It would of itself be evidence conclusive. But that it never 
has been brought forward throws more than a doubt upon its alleged existence. 



THE CID OF SEV^ILLE 151 



which furnished to the French tragedian the plot, and something 

teristics which were common to him with all other Spanish writers of the drama. 
But when, to this probability, there is added the fact that the same source from 
which the Frenchman drew so largely was open to liim and nearer at hand, he 
being born as it were on its very brink and baptized in it, it will be seen that there 
is not the least difficulty m supposing that the latter, while taking as his model 
the same play which was the model of the Frenchman, lent to his copy, here and 
there, what he might consider the grace and embellishment and other improve- 
ment added by the latter. He might do this even to disguise his obligations to 
that model. That he did not copy also the mere form, it is sufficient to say that 
he was a Spaniard and composed his drama for a Spanish audience. The German 
critic adds in a note (/&.): "Da mir von der gi-ossen alteren Sammlung Span- 
ischen Combdien, welche den Titel Comedkts cle cUferentes Autores fiihrt und von 
welcher schon 1636 zu Valencia ein 29ster Then erschien, nicht die ganze Eeihe, 
sondem nur einzelne Theile bekamit sind, so bleibt mich die Vermuthung offen, 
dass sich f iir Diamante's friiheres Austreten auch ein aiisseres Zeugniss finden 
werde." Now, Mr. Ticknor, who had the rarest opportunities for knowing the 
very earliest editions of all Spanish authors, says decidedly that Diamante took 
from ComeiUe, and the Spanish version of his exhaustive work ( ffist. Sp. Lit. ) 
gives his note to that effect without contradiction. "We may therefore consider 
this point settled. If my own opinion after his is of any worth, I should say that 
I have compared the three plays, Las Moceclades, El Honrador, and Le Cid to- 
gether, line after line, in the Scene between the Conde and Diego, and that between 
Eodrigo and the Conde, and as it is impossible that so like resixlts, especially in 
the former Scene, should ensue from the imitation by two difEerent authors of one 
other, from which other there is still so great a divergence, it follows that 
Diamante must have plagiarized from Le Cid. In one particular in that Scene 
he has improved upon his copy. In ComeiUe we read the stage-directiou 
(after "■ II liti do7ine tinsoufflet'''') "D. Di^GUE mettant Tepee a la main.'''' In 
Diamante, DiEGO '■^saca la espada, y cdesele a lospies del Conde^'' with the words : 

" Z). I Para que quiero la vida, 

Despues de tan grande ofesa ? " 
ComeUle's words : 

" Acheve, et prends ma vie apres un tel affront, 
Le premier dont ma race ait vu roagir son front — " 

are not so good, even mth a like action, because the second verse of the couplet 
is not in nature and enfeebles the simple passion of the first. 

Ochoa ( Etig. de ), who in the 5th vol of his Tesoro del Teatro Espariol ( Paris, 
8", 1838 ) gives us the whole of Diamante's play, touches m his brief preface with 



152 PREFACE TO 



more, of his justly celebrated, but over-estimated, serious drama.* 

more fairness than acumen on this question. Leaving it undecided, he says : "No 
es probable que Diamante copiase d Corneille, pero tampoco lo es que Corneille, cuya 
buena fe es notoria, ocultase que habia copiado a Diamante, si en efecto le copio." 

As to Corueille's good faith or frankness, I do not see that it is evmced in his 
acknowledgment of his obligations to Castro. He would appear to own an adapta- 
tion merely of the subject, or, at the most, of the plot ; j-et we trace, in his origi- 
nal, passage after passage, some of which, even those that are unnatural and 
affected, (») are directly borrowed, sentiment and phrase, wlthoiit any avowal. The 
very fragment of the Spanish historian, which ushers-in his " Avcrtissement,'" 
appears to be put forward as a mask to conceal the real extent of his obligations 
to the Spanish poet: " Voila," he says, "ce qu'a prfite Thistoire a D. Guillem de 
Castro, qui a mis ce fameux evenement stcr le theatre avaiit moi.'''' Again, citing 
certain Spanish verses, which, he says, seem made expressly to defend his heroine : 
" lis sont du meme auteiir qii,i ta traitee avant moi, D. Guillem de Castro . . ." 
And in adding at the close the two romances, I think he works to the same pur- 
pose, that is, to conceal, or to obscure, his indebtedness to the real source of all 
his drama, and make it be supposed that he borrowed, not so much from another 
dramatist, as from the ballads directly, in which this latter found the rude out- 
lines of the domjlnant part of his design. 

The principal obligation of Le Cid, however, is to that felicitous invention of 
the antecedent love between Chimene and Rodrigue, to which, notwithstanding 
what the author says of the two great conditions exacted for a perfect tragedy by 
Aristotle, and to the observation of which alone he claims the success of his work 
was due, may be ascribed a great share of the interest excited. Indeed it is a 
main pillar in his edifice. And this invention belongs to Castro. Schack claims 
it as the source of the principal interest: "Das Motiv aber, welches das Haupt- 
interesse des Drama's [ Las Mocedades ] , den Kampf zwischen Liebe und Ehre, 
bedingt, scheint dem Guillen de Castro eigenthiimlich zu gehoren ; denn die Ko- 
manzen erwahnen einer friihern Liebe des Cid zu Ximenen nicht." ?/. s. p. 431. 
Still, though felicitous, it was of easy devising, and, I may say, could not have 
escaped any practiced dramatist, belonging as it does almost to the necessities of 
a plot of the kind. Though Corneille has borrowed it, he would have made it. 

" . . . . " dans Le Cid, le choix du sujet, que Ton a blame, est un dea 
grandes m^rites du poSte. C'est a mon gre le plus beau, le plus interessant que 
Corneille ait trait6." LA Harpe. Comm. CEuvr. de Corn. ( 6d. cit. ) T. 1. p. 239. 

" El argumento de la Tragedia de Saiicho Ortiz de las lioelas es semejante d la 

( a ) See, for one instance, the passage from Act III. Sc. IV. cited, p. 153, note t. 



THE OID OF SEVILLE loS 



Corneille avowedl}--, or rather with a partial recoguition,* took the 
elements of his play from Guillen de Castro, but was probably also 
assisted, in the spirit of his composition, by this one of De Yega's, 
to which, as refounded by Trigueros, I think the Cid, even as a 
composition, is every way inferior, iu naturalness, in sentiment, in 
diction, if iu the diction of a drama naturalness is, as I maintain de- 
terminedly, the first essential, without which pomp is but a blemish 
and artifice of arrangement degenerates iuto affectation. Lope is 
uot always lifelike, not even when remodeled, as for example in Act 
III. Sc. III. S. 0., but superior as a whole is his colloquy, so re- 
modeled, to the false turns, and the elaborate antithesisf and tedious 

del Cid de Comeille, pues si en esta se representa la accion de un heroe que para 
vengar iina afrenta hecha a su padre mata al de su amante, en aquella se mu- 
estra la de un hombre tan honrado como valiente, el qual creyendo desagraviar a 
su rey desafia y da la muerte al hermano de la que le es destinada por esposa. La 
diferencia que hay eutre estos dos dramas es que el de Lope tiene un desenlace 
mas noble, pues la heroina que ha sido la causa inocente de una funesta catastrof e, 
prefiere la soledad y lobreguez de un claustro a la satisf accion de pasar su vida 
con un hombre a quien adora, pero que ha derramado la sangre del mas querido 
de sus deudos." Obaervac. — Teatro Enp. T. 1. p. 3. 

* See note on p. 152 ; first paragraph. 

+ This artificial contrast in phrase and sentiment, carried often to a wearisome, 
if not disgusting extent, and bandied to and fro between two speakers ( sometimes 
among three ) Like a shuttlecock, is one of the unnatm-al peculiarities of French 
plays in general, nor is wholly unknown to the English school. Shakspeare, 
among other vices, has given us many disagreeable specimens ; for example in 
Bichard III. ComeiUe, who in previous plays had shown somewhat more than 
a fancy for the bauble, is blinded by his predilection so far, that he does not see 
its insignificance and inappositeness even in his model. Thus the following : 

" D. liOdrirjue. O miracle d'amour ! 

Cfdmene. O comble de miseres ! 
D. Bod. Que de maux et de pleurs nous couteront nos pores ! 
Chim. Rodrigue, que Teut cru . . . 

D. Bod. Chimene, qui Teut dit . . . 
Chim, Que notre heur f ut si proche, et si t6t se perdit ? 
D. Bod. Et que^si pres du port, centre toute apparence, 

Un orage si prompt brisat notre esperance y 
Chim. Ah ! mortelles douleurs ! 

D. Bod. Ah ! regrets superflus ! 



154 PREFACE TO 



and equally unreal amplification of the Frenchman, nor is there any- 
where so faulty a scene m Sanclio Ortiz as the Second of Act I. in 
Le Ckl. In the latter play I do not know where to find any pas- ■ 

sage, not directly borrowed, that equals in sentiment any one of these 
in the former : 

"Estrella" [the King is speaking — to that absurd and 
miserable creation of almost aU plays, a confidant. Trigueros might have gone 
a step further in his alterations, and changed the creature into something reason- 
able, something less artificial and conventional, and withm the probabilities of 
human existence] 

" EstreUa en tanto, mi Estrella, 
Tampoco cobro altivez, 
Mas modesta cada vez, 
Como cada vez mas bella. 
Matome con su humUdad, 
Tan I'everente y severa ; 
Que si eUa se envaneciera 
Fuera mia su beldad. 



Chlm. Va-t'en, encore mi coup, je ne t' ecoute plus : " 

which may be thus translated : 

He. miracle of lore > 

She. O sorrow's overflow ! 
He. What ills, hoio many tears, oxir sires will cause to flow I 
She. Rodrigue, who had heliev'd . . . 

He. Chimene, who would have said 
She. Our joy icould come so near, aJid yet so soon have fled f 
He. And icJten the heavens shone fair, our haven too in vieic, 
A sudden storm should rend our barque of hope in two ? 
She. Ah ! mortal sting of grief! 

He. Regrets in vain gone o'er! 
She. Begone, again I bid, I will not listen more : 

is an imitation, with more refinement, but less natm-alness, of 

" Rod. \ Ay, Jimena I f, Quien dijera 

Jim. i Ay, Kodrigo ! i Quien pensara 

Rod. Que mi dicha se acabara ? 
Jim. Y que mi bien finiciera ? &a." 

He. Ah, Himena ! Who icould have said 

She. Ah, Rodi'zgo! Who icould have thought 

He. That my bliss would come to nought ? 
She. And my joy so soon be sped f etc. * 



Jorn. II., Ksc. 2, in Ims Mocedades. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 155 



Me pasmo 
Don Arias, con su respuesta : 
Sin rigor, y muy modesta, 
Todo mi incendio le helo. 
Pareceme que la escucho : 
Soy, dixo a mi furor loco. 
Para e^posa vicestrn poco. 
Para ckuna vueatra mucho.''' Act. 1". Esc. 1. 

And then the rencounter of the King with Bustos, wliich is not 
enacted as in Lope, but is thus related by the monarch : 

" Seducir logre la esclava. 
Que anoche entrada me dio, 
Mas Bustos me descubrio 
Quando mas ufano entraba. 
La eapada osado sac6, 
Con valor, mas con respeto, — 
Que, aunque lo neg6, en efeto 
Pienso que me conocio. 
Dixe quien soy, y arrogante 
Me respondi6 que mentia, 

Y que im rey no cometia 
Jamas accion semejante." ib. 

And I am tempted to add, since the extravagance is characteristic 
both of the nation and of the speaker, Bustos' response to the King 
in Scene III : — 

'"''Bustoa. Seflor, es mi hermana Estrella 

Por mi desgi-acia tan bella 

Rey. I Pues en esto que perdeis, 

Si es su virtud extremada ? 
Bustos. Eslo sin duda : es Tabera ; 

Y ya yo mvierta la hubiera, 
Si fuera menos honrada." 

This Hst of examples, which, be it observed, are absolutely the 
composition of Trigueros and not of Lope, might be carried out to 
considerable length, were it necessary to show to anyone, but per- 
haps a French reader, who has compared the two, the inferiority in 
point of sentiment as well as action, and, as I have implied above, 
in propriety of diction, of the Cid of Corneille, whose most natural 



156 PREFACE TO 

and most toucliing passages are borrowed directly, or by imitation, 
from De Castro.* 

As the original play by Lope is not always to be had, I shall now 
give an analysis of its plot, with sufficient extracts to enable the 

* As for instance in Act III. Sc. VI. 

" D. Diegue. Rodrigue, enfin le ciel pcrmet que je te voie 1 
D. Rodr. Helas ! 

D. Die. Ne mele point de soupirs a ma joie ; 
Laisse-raoi prendre haleine afin de te louer. 
Ma valeur n'a point lien de te desavouer ; 
Tu Tas bien imitee, et ton illnstre audace 
Fait bien re\-ivre en toi les heros de ma race. 
Cest d'eux que tu descends, c'est de moi que tu viens ; 
Ton premier coup d'epee egale tons les miens ; 
Et d"une belle ardeur ta jeunesse animee 
Par cette grande epreuve atteint ma renommee. 
Appui de ma vieillesse, et comble de mon heur, 
Touche ces cheveux hlancs a, qui tu rends thonneur, 
Viens baiser cette joiie, et reco7inais la place 
Ou fut empreint taffront que ton courage efface."'' 

The greater merit of the original ( notw-ithstanding the slight conceit which I 

find in "aliento tomo para, etc.''" and which CorneiUe, who wanted the feeling to 

imitate the pathetic " Como tardaste tanto ? " abandoned natm-e to paraphrase) 

will be directly manifest : — 

'•'■Sale Rodrigo. 
Diego. \ Hijo ! 

Rod. i Padre ! 

Die. •(, Es posible que me hallo 
Entre tus brazos ? Hijo, aliento tomo 
Para en tus alabanzas empleallo. 
I Como tardaste tanto ? Pues de plomo 
Te puso mi deseo, y pues veniste, 
No he de cansarte preguntando el como. 
Bravamente probaste, bien lo hiciste, 
Bien mis pasadoa brios imitaste, 
Bien me pagaste el ser que me debiste. 
Toca las hlancas canas que me honraste, 
Llega la tieriui boca a, la mejilla 
Donde la iiwtnc/M de mi honor quitaste.'" Jorn. Ila. esc. III. 

Those who are familiar with Spanish, and what is more, imderstand the true 
expression of nature in any tongue, need not be told how superior is the model to 
the copy. As for the three italicized verses of the Spanish poet, con-esponding 
to the three above, so much admired in Corneille, nothing of the kind can be more 
tender and touching; nor, if we except the redimdancy in "blancas canas,"' 
is there anything to mar their perfect beauty, whereas the " recomiais la place " of 
the Frenchman gives to the clause where it occurs something of the color of a 
conceit. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 157 



reader to form a good idea of its character. I find the copy of La 
Esirella de Sevilla in Lemcke's Randbiich, i^reviously mentioned, Vol. 
JIT, where are also printed in full both Parts of Las Mocedades del Cid. 

Ado Primero. • 

Esc. IL The King ( Don Sancho lY. ) and Arias ( his confidant. ) — 
The King appears as a profligate voluptuary, ( which is contrary, so 
far as I know, to the truth of history. ) Various ladies are de- 
scribed by the King, till at last he comes to Estrella, whose fantas- 
tical picture I subjoin, as it gives a specimen of Lope's very frequent 
extravagance. 

" i Quien es la que rayos son 
Sus dos ojos fiilminantes, 
En abrasar semejantes 
A los de Jupiter f uerte, 
Que estan dandome la muerte, 
De su rigor ignorantcs ? 
Una que, de negro, hacia 
Fuerte competencia al sol, 

Y al horizonte espanol 
Entre ebano ainanecia. 
Una noche, hon-or del dia, 
Pues de negro, luz le daba, 

Y el eclipsado quedaba ; 
Un boiTon de la luz pura 

Del sol, pues con su hermosura 
Sus puras lineas borraba." 

Don Arias says she is miscalled " la Estrella " ( the Star ). To whicli 
the King : 

" Rey. Si es mas bella 

Que el sol, i como asi la ofende 

Sevilla ? ^ Como no entiende 

Que merece su aiTebol 

Llamarse Sol, pues es sol 

Que vivifica y cnciende ? 
D. Arias. Es dofia Estrella Tabera 

Su nombre, y por mara villa 

La llama Estrella de Sevilla. 
Reij, Y Sol llamarla pudiera." 

They continue, both, quibbling on the words star and svm ; and tlic 



158 PREFACE TO 



King is inflamed with the desire to see Estrella the next night at 
her home. 

In Esr.. V. the King seeks to corrupt Busto ( Estrella's brother) 
by extraordinary favors. Busto shows his sense of justice and his 
generosity by preferring otliers for the high office the King holds 
out to him, and departs suspicious of the royal motives. 

Esc. VI. The King concludes with saying- 

"Viva yo, y diga Castilla 
Lo que qiiisiere decir, 
Que, rey ciego, he de seguir 
A la Estrella de Sevilla." 

Trigueros, with all his emendations, has scarcely improved the char- 
acter, when he makes the royal Hbertine, with equal coolness, if 
with less pertness, exclaim : 

"Ay, Estrella, 
Temo til seguridad. 
Veo que es una maldad, 
Don Arias, mas voy a hacella." ( Saiicho Ortiz. I. 2. ) 

Esc. VII. Follows an interview between the lovers, Sanrho Ortiz 
and Estrella,, where a great deal of extravagance is uttered on both 
sides. 

"Z>. Sancho. \ Ay, amorosa Estrella, 
De fuego y luz vestida ! 
Estrella. \ Aj, piadoso homicida ! 
D. Sancho. \ Ay, sagrados despojos, 

Norte en el mar de mis confuses ojos ! " 

It is not wonderful the servants ( Clarindo and Matilda ) should 
have their burlesque : 

" Clar. \ Ay, hermosa muleta ! 
[aij. a, Matilde. 
De mi amante desmayo ! 
Mat. I Ay, hemioso lacayo! 

Que al son de la almohaza eres poeta ! '' &«. 

In Esc. X. Clarindo says : 



" Por esta estrella hermosa 
Morimos como liuevos estrellados. 
Mejor fiiera en tortilla." 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 159 



In this impertinency of low humor, which makes us pmile by 
its grotesqueness, and perhaps by its absurdity, for the pun is im- 
perfect and has no applicability,* we recognize between Lope and 
his contemporary, Shakspeare, another trait of resemblance besides 
extravagance of metaphor and love-conceits. — Tlie rhyme to 
" tortilla" is in a verse whose pomposity of indignation, repeated like 
a burden, concludes the Scene with a facetiousness which must 
have been relished by an audience. It is a good specimen of the 

* "Huevos ostrellados" — starred eggn^ ai-e of covu'se eggs which, broken mto 
the fryingpan, assume in the hot oil or lard in which they are to be cooked, 
something of the form ascribed to stars, and "tortUla" is an omelet. ESTRELLA 
corresponding to our STELLA, the quibbling nonsense may be thus rendered, with 
observation of tlie metre : 

Becaitae of Uhk stellar heauty 
We perish like to Jieii\ eotjs that are stellar\l. 
It icoiild be better in a?i omelet. 

ClarindO is the gracioso, that is, the merrymaker, sometimes the buffoon of 
the piece, corresponding in a measure to the clown of Shaksijcare and of his 
modem imitators, the real representative of which in our time is the "clown" of 
the circus. Trigueros has not only excluded all this and other folly ( " ), but also 
the entire part of Matilda, nor has given a greater share to the servant in the 
confidence of his master than ( with whatever unlikelihood ) is the long-established, 
but reprehensible custom of the Stage in all countries, whereas CorneiUe, in re- 
taining witliout consideration the part of Urraca ( V Infante ), has made her per- 

(a) Nni:e but a writer ignnrant of the rrii<''Pl>^s of 'rue art, nr indifferent thereto, would justify this 
admixture of the comic with the tragic on the plea that in actual life the grave and gay are oftentimes con- 
founded. The object of a tragedy is not to describe the whole of life, but a particular portion or single occur- 
rence of a life; and to cross the solemnity or horror of that occurrence with ludicrous allusions, jests, or 
incidents, is to show an execrable want of taste that would be instantly detected and reprobated in a picture. 
In my boyhood, when it was a fashion to have portfolios of fine engravings open for the entertainment of 
evening visitors, I was particularly struck by one, a French copperplate which depicted the storming of the 
Bastile. In the midst of all the horrors of the scene, the artist had inserted, as a touch of nature, and perhaps 
as a stroke of satire, a dog in the act of relieving his Iwwels. Like that picture is a tragedy whose unity 
of sombreness is broken by the intrusion of what is discordant with the principal incident, or even with 
the predominant tone. That this violation of good taste is entertaining, especially to the large plurality of 
every audience, is true. It is not less true, that the main object of the playwright, and without which all 
his efforts, be they never so noble, are in vain, is to interest. But he should be able to do this without a 
desecration of true art, nor should the fact, that because of the greater rarity of sound literary criticism 
such defects are not so noticeable as they arc in a painting, or would be in an opera, where f at the present 
day ) they seldom or never occur, nor yet the success of great writers whose real eminence does not neces- 
barily make them models, blind him or render him indifferent to what is both simple propriety and the 
very consummation of high art. 



160 PREFACE TO 



comic use of a rhyme upon occasion ( but not in serious drama. ) 

"No goces los imperios do Castilla.'" 
Sancho Ortiz, who is about to show so absolute and heroic a loy- 
aUy, has not maintained his character, or prepared us for it, in this 
Scene, lie has inveighed against the King ( an improbable impru- 
dence too, before his servant ) as a tyrant, and threatened to leave 
Seville for Gibraltar, to shed his blood for him there. So in the 
beginning he is made to say : 

" Tirano, que veniste, 
A perturbar mi dulce casamiento, 
Con aplauso a Sevilla, 
No goces los imperios de Castilla." 

Thus, Trigueros is more consistent. 

petrate such nonsense as the following, confessing her love to her governess, 
while at the same time declaring she would die rather than forget her rank : 

" Vlnf. Ma tristesse redouble a la tenir secrete, 
ifecoute, ecoute enfin comme j'ai combattu, 
Ecoute quels assauts brave encor ma vertu. 

L'amour est un tyran qui n'epargne personne. 
Ce jeune cavalier, cet amant que je donne, 
Je i'aime. 

Leon. Vous Taimez ! 

Vlnf. Mets la main snr men coeur, 
Et vols comme il se trouble au nom de son vainqiieur, 
Comme il le reconnait. 

lAon. Pardonnez-moi, madame, 
Si je sors du respect pour blamer cette flamme. 
* * * * 

Vous souvient-il encor de qui vous etcs fiUe ? 
Vlnf. II m'en sou\'ient si bien que j'epandrai mon sang, 

Avant que je m'abaisse h dementir mon rang." Le Cid. I. 2. 

Trigiieros, as just implied, makes Ortiz give vent to his happiness before his 
servant ; but then it is in a flush of joy caused by the sudden and unexpected news 
of his immediate marriage with Estrella : his heart is full and runs over. He 
does not utter such unnatural commonplaces as the above ; and moreover, what 
he says is brief, gentlemanly ( so to speak ), and to the point. This false senti- 
ment, whose utterance, except in soliloquy, is even more unnatural than its con- 
ception, finds no condemnation in the criticism either of the French Stage or of the 
English, which latter, in the days of Addiscn, adopted its duLness and its absurdity ; 
and the Cato of that author is an apt illustration of all that is false in passion and 
improbable in its expression. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 161 



Efic. XL In the street. — Busto presents a manly resistance to 
the King's desire to enter his house, and speaks his mind with great 
frankness as to the King's motives. 

Esc. XII. — Arias, in the house of Busto, tries to tempt Estrella 
by open offers from tlie King. He asks her at the close : 

"Que respondes? 

Estr. Que respondo ? 
Lo que ves. \vuelve la eHpalda.'''' 

Contrast this familiarity, natural indeed, but oflfeusive to the tragic 
muse, with the uoble expression, " Soy . . . para esposa, etc." 
cited on page 155. 

E^c. XIII. — Arias gains over the slave Matilda, who is to admit 
the King that night to Estrella's chamber. 

Acta Segundo. 

Esc. I. St /'set. — J^ing, Arias and Matilda^ at the door of Busto's 
house. "When Matilda receives her reward ( a certificate of freedom, 
etc. ) Don Arias says ( aparte cd Bey) : 

" Toclas con el interes 
Son, Sefior, de un mismo modo." 

From which profound reflection the King, who seems to regard his 
desperate adventure as a frolic, derives this deduction : 

" Eey. Divina cosa es reinar : " 

which perhaps is as downright a libel as was ever put upon a king; 
for Sancho IV., far from being a fool and fop, was a man, evidenced 
by his deeds, as shown in all histories, wary and astute, and not 
likely to make a remark whose flippancy, if it was meant for ^vit, 
though it has more the sound of a sly sarcasm of the poet's, would 
have fitted Charles II. of England. — The courtiers, who have 
been commissioned to entertain Busto, so as to keep him absent, 
cannot prevent his untimely return, and (Esc. T^)the King and 



102 PREFACE TO 



he encounter. The former cannot release h.imself from Busto until 
he avows who he is. 

" Eey. Detente ; 
Que soy el Eey. 

Busto. Es engaQo. 
* * * * 

No puede ser, y a su alteza 
Aqui, \aIlano, ofendeis, 
Pues def ecto en el poneis, 
Que es una extrana bajeza." 

The dialogue is rather too loug for the emergency, as well as tc 

quote, but Busto finally says, and says nobly, — in the first four 

hues beautifully: 

' ' La llava me ha confiado [el Rey] 
De su casa, y no podia 
Yenir sin llave a la mia 
Cuando la suya me ha dado. 

Y no atropeUeis la ley ; 

Mirad que es hombre en efeto : * 

Esto OS digo, y os respeto 
Porque os fingisteis el Rey. 

Y de verme no os asombre 
Fiel, aunque quedo afrentado ; 
Que un vasallo esta obligado 
A tener respeto al nombre : " 

etc. : all of which is among the best passages of the piece. — The 
King cannot stand this, and, after more words, they fight. 

Esc. VI. — Servants enter wth lights. The King, dreading detec- 
tion, turns his back and escapes in the confusion, expressing ( as 
he is always a common man ) a hope of vengeance. 

Esc. VII. Between Busto and Matilda : where MatUda, who con- 
fesses her guilt, is made absurdly to play upon the name Esirella ; 
and this fine language, out of place anywhere, is passed between 
the two. 

Bus. Y (, sabe EstreUa 
Algo desto ? 

Mat. Pienso que ella 
En sus rayos a abrasar 
Me \'iniera, si entendiera 
Mi concierto. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 163 



Bus. Cosa es clara ; 
Porque si acaso enturbiara 
La luz, estrella no fuera. 
Mat. No perinite su arrebol 
Eclipse ni sombra oscura ; 
Que es su luz brillante y pura 
Partici]3a(la del sol." 

The slave's extravagance is equaled only by its insipidity, and it is 
the more remarkable as this sort of language suggested by the name 
is so frequently repeated by all the characters. 

Esc. VIII. — The King and Arias find the slave's dead body 
dangling from a grating of the palace windows, 

" v. Arias. En el alcazar csta 

Un bulto pendiente al viento. 
* * * * 

Be2/. Mira que es. 
D. Arias. La esclavilla 

Con el papel en las-manos." 

Compare the passage from SancJio Ortiz : " Del alcazar a la puerta, 

efc.," in Note 5. The certificate in her hands is, however, a capital 

feature. 

Esc. IX. Bitsto and Estrella. — There is an unnatural dialogue 

between these in which also Busto alludes to the name ; as ex. gr. 

'"'■Bus. Esta noche fu epiciclo 

Del sol ; que en ella esta noche 
Se troco de Estrella el signo." 

Estrella might well respond : 

" Estr. Las Uanezas del tionor 
No con astrologo estUo 
Se han de decrr : habla claro." 

She does not utter a word of pity, or exclamation of horror or sur- 
prise, when he tells her how he has served Matilda. 

Esc. XL Where the King commits the charge to slay Busto to 
Saucho Ortiz. This fine Scene Trigueros has preserved with scarcely 
an alteration. 

Esc. XIV. Busto and Sancho fight ; and the former falls. Here, 
I think, though Trigueros lias done well to abbreviate the dialogue, 



164 PEEFACE TO 

which he otherwise alters materially so as to make it his own, he 
has lost the eflfect of the actual comljat. But this was in tlie order 
of his work, — wherein Bustos meets Sancho as he is about to leave 
the palace, and they go out together to fight. 

Esc. XV. and XVI. Sancho arrested. 

Esc. XVII. and XVIIL Estrella and Teodora ( her maid ), after the 
former has arrayed herself for her bridal ; and the same with Cla- 
rindo, who tells EstreUa, when slie gives him a diamond for the 
jacinth he had received from Ortiz, that this last has split from 
melancholy. To which she replies : 

" Ei^tr. No importa que est6 parfcida; 

Que es bien que las piedras sientan 
Mis contentos y alegrias." 

Before this, the mirror fell and broke from envy : 
-' Teod .... 

Cayo ol cspejo. De envidia, 

{Alzale. 
El cristal, dentro la hoja, 
De una luna hizo iiifinitas." 

The dress-scene ( XVII. ) is very brief in Lope, and has none of that 
bewitching tenderness Trigueros has known to impart to the inno- 
cent Estrella, if you except this passage : 

" Estr. Ya me parece que llega 
Banado el rostro de risa, 
Mi esposo a dame la mano 
Entre mil tiernas caricias. 
Ya me parece que dice 
Jilil ternezas, y que, oidas, 
Sale el alma por los ojos, 
Disimulando sus ninas." 

Esc. XIX., where the tody of Busio is brought in. — Lope fails to 

depict the effect on Estrella ; and Trigueros, so far from bettering 

it. increases the unnaturalness by amplification. The Scene is very 

brief in the original. 

" Estr. I Desdichada 

Ha sido la estrella mia ! 

i Mi hermano es muerto, y le ha muerto 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 165 



Sanclio Ortiz ! el quien divida 
Tres almas de iin corazon. 
Dejadme ; que estoy perdida.'' 

Sancho is not introduced, the Alcalde telliug her at the outset that 
they have arrested him and will do justice on him without fail on 
the morrow. 

Ado Tercero. 
Esc. III. Estre.lla before the King. — The same eternal quibbling 
on her name ( and, by the by, almost the sole metaphor Lope uses 
throughout is, with variations, that of the sun, rays, stars, etc.) She 
says, after four verses of salutation : 

" Una desdichada estrella 
Que sus claros rayos cubre 
Deste luto, que mi llanto 
Lo ha sacado en negras nubes, 
Justicia a pedirte vensfo." 

Then she adds : 

" Quise a Tabera, mi hermano, 
Que las sacras pesadumbres [?] 
Ocupa, pisando estrellas 
En pavimentos azules " — 

and concludes her long oration with like unnaturalness and without 

the least show of feeling. What can the King, who she knows to 

her sorrow is a gallant man, but answer in this stupendous style : 

" Rey. Sosegaos, y enjugad las luces bellas, 
Si no quereis que se arda mi palacio ; 
Que lagrimas del sol son las estrellas, 
Si cada rayo suyo es un topacio." d*rt. 
King. Com2iose yourself, those fine lights'' moisture stoj). 
If you would not my palace set ablaze : 
For Stellar flres are tears the sun lets drop. 
If topazes are, each, one of his rays* 

* I have sought of course to parody the quibble on the name Estrella ( Stella). 

Otherwise the third verse would read, more literally, 

For stars are tears the sun himself lets drop. 

The way Trigxieros has altered the passage is thus : 

" Eey. Sosegaos, y enjugad 

Unas lagrimas tan bellas, 
Que desperdiciais en ellas 
Lo mejor de la beldad." 



166 PREFACE TO 



In the Prison ( Esc. VI. ), Mitsicians entertain Sancbo. The Alcalde 
pertinently asks : 

" Cuando la miiei-te por horas 
Le amenaza, (ta. 
(, Con musica se entretiene ? " 

Esc. VIII. Still in the prison. D. Sancho and Clarindo. — 
Clarindo thinks ( as he well mny ) his master has lost his senses, 
and, with a sly wink to the audience ( ajmrte ), lets them know he is 
about to hrimor him ; and the following occurs : 

" D. Sancho. Ya estamos en la otra vitla. 
Clarin. Y pienso que en el infierno. 
D. Sancho. i En el infierno, Clarindo ? 

l En que lo ves ? 
Clarin. En que veo, 

Seflor, en aquel castLllo 

Mas de mil sastres mintiendo.'" 

And so the Scene, a long one, continues, till the comical fellow 
thinks it time to bring back his master to reality. The whole Scene 
is bad and farcical. The dialogue reminds me somewhat of Aris- 
tophanes, but not favorably, and has a flavor of Don Quixote and 
Sancho Panza. 

Esc. IX. Campo. — That absurdity of the theatre, a lover's not 
knowing his mistress ( when too he has but lately parted with her ) 
because her face is concealed, although she talks and moves, is here 
presented. The dialogue is without any pith or even elegance as 
with Trigueros, and when Sancho, with mere obstinacy, without any 
of the nobleness he displays in the modern play, persists in refusing 
to escape, she finishes by saying, 

" Efitr. Pues vete, loco, a morir', 

Que a morir tambien me voy." 

Thus Estrella is reduced to — no ( that would be, if she had ap- 
peared at all as Trigueros paints her, ) but remains — a very ordi- 
nary woman. 

Esc. XI. King teUs the Alcayde ( goverror of the Castle, who 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 167 



has come to inform him of what has transpired there ) to bring, iu 
secrecy, in his, the King's coach ( this anachronism lias occurred 
before ) D. Sancho to the palace. 

The Alcaldes, entreated flatteringly by the King, each apart, ( Esc. 
XIIL and XIV. ) yet maintain their integrity {XVI. ) ; but it is not 
after the lofty and elegant fashion of the remodeled drama. 

Even in the final Scene Trigueros has greatly the advantage. 

The King asks, in the original : 

" ,;, que falta ? [between the lovers] 
D. San. La conformidad. 

Estr. Pues esa 
Jamas podremos hallarla 
Viviendo juntos. 

D. San. Lo mismo 
Digo yo, y por esta causa 
De la palabra te absuelvo. 
Efitr. Yo te absuelvo la palabra ; 
Que ver siempre al homicida 
De mi hermano en mesa y cama 
Me ha de dar pena. 

D. San. Y a mi 
Estar siempre con la hermana 
Del que mate injustamente, 
Queriendole como el alma. 
Estr. Pues i libros quedamos ? 

D. San. Si. 
Et<tr. Pues adios. 

D. San. Adios. 

Rey. Aguarda. 
Estr. Seflor, no ha de ser mi esposo 
Hombre qtxe a mi hermano mata, 
Aunque le quiero y le adoro. {Vaf^e. 
D. San. Y yo, Seftor, por amarla, 

No es justicia que lo sea. [Vase.^'' 

The King, although he had bid them stop, is not discomposed by 

this abrupt departure from the presence, and holds out a hope 

which is not very tragical and mars beside the design : 

' ' He?/. Casarle pienso y casarla 
Como merece." 

And Clarindo finishes : 

" Cfar. Y aqui 



168 PREFACE TO 



Esta tragedia os consagra 
Lope, dando a La Estrella 
De Sevilla etema fama. 
Cuyo prodigioso caso 
Immortales bronces guardan." 

A prediction which has been realized, though whether it would 
have been had it been other than Lope, or the drama had not had 
the good fortune to be wrought into so delectable a shape by a later 
and inferior poet, is more than questionable. The whole piece is 
deficient in the tone of tragedy, is, save in its exaggerated portions, 
merely metrical prose, and those exaggerated parts have but the 
poetry which is puerile and commonplace. The action is hvely, the 
plot ingenious, the design more than happy ; but the entire work, 
and the development of the characters, including the libel on 
Sanclio el Bravo, indicate the hasty performance for which Lopo is 
both known and renowned. 

Perhaps, after this analysis of the original play, it may be advi- 
sable to show the main features of its modification, if such may be 
called what is in fact the Estrella remodeled and almost entirely 
rewritten. 

Sanclio Ortiz de las Roelas is divided into five Acts, iu which the 
unessential unity of place, that is, unity of place as it is usually un- 
derstood, is not rigidly observed, for the Scene shifts from Act to 
Act, from the Palace to Bustos' house, then back to the Palace, thence 
to the Castle in Triana, and back again to the Palace. In this respect, 
however, it is quite as regular as the Cid of Corneille, which is 
considered, even by Voltaire, to fulfil sufficiently the requisites.* 

* . . . "car cette unite ne consiste pas a rcpresenter toute Taction dans tm 
cabinet, dans line chambre, mais dans plusieurs endroits contigiis que roeil puisse 
apercevoir sans peine." ( CEuv. de Corn. ed. c. I. p. 212. ) — No, this is not its 
definition. As the spectator may as well see one place as another, there is no 
reason why the action should not shift fi-om one Scene to half a dozen, even in 
the same Act, provided always that the time of the action is not the same in the 
different Scenes, still more does not go back from a later Scene to one that is 
eailier, but moves by proper intervals, in which tlie course of events i? pi-ogi-es- 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 169 

Ado Primer 0. 
Esc. I. King and Arias. — The former relates his experience 
in his endeavors to corrupt both Estrella and her brother Bustos ; 
and under the instigation, or rather encouragement of his confi- 
dant, — for, at the very opening of the Scene, the monarch says, 

" Mientras que Bustos Tabera 
Guarde a su hermana, 6 no muera, 
Estrella no sera mia," — 

resolves to i3ut Bustos out of the way. See passage cited, page 
154, above. 

Esc. II. King alone. — A brief colloquy with his conscience. 

Esc. III. — Bustos comes to request permission to have his 
sister married. See passage cited on p. 155 ; with which the fol- 
lo-v^dug connects directly, the King having first responded: "Eien 
lo creo de vos, Bustos : " — 

" Bnst. Con ser tan honrada y piira, 

sive and the distance from place to place is duly observed. Thus, if I can see into 
the palace of Don Sancho, I can also see into a street of Seville, and into any 
chamber of Tabera's house ; but I cannot do the impossible, which would be to 
make Bustos reach his house from the palace in an interval marked merely by the 
shifting of a scene. Time must elapse sufficient, at least seemingly, for the pur- 
pose ; and this is to be effected by continuing the action in the palace, while 
Bustos is making his way home. 

The limits of this Preface, already ten times exceeding what I had proposed to 
myself, wiU not allow a full examination of this important principle. I reserve 
it, with other points connected -svith a right judgment of dramatic action and the 
laws which ought to regulate the drama, for a future and general preface to pre- 
cede the First Volume of these lays. I would observe however, that in Uberto 
there are two illustrations of a fa^ ^^y deviation from the rule I have laid down, 
namely, in Act II. Scenes 2 and t. How this happened, even in a romantic 
drama, I do not now know. Perhaps it was, that Uberto being intended for the 
closet and not the stage, I did not deem the point necessary to observe, where to 
observe it would, on account of the paucity of characters and of events, have 
been difficult. Virginia, The Silver Head, The School for Criticfi, Ugo da Este, 
and the present play, are aU instances of a perfect observation of the three 
unities. 

YoL. IL— 8 



170 PREFACE TO 



Siempre esta por sii hcrmosiira 
Mi honor cercado de siistos ; 
Ojos hay de gran denuedo 
Que se encienden por Estrella. 
Gudrdola, y se guarda ella ; 
Mas contra todos no puedo. 
Guardola por justa ley 
Que me obliga, y es tan rara, 
Que aun de vos no la fiara 
Con ser mi padre y mi Rey." 

Perhaps a knightly boldness never had, even in a Spaniard, so 
beautiful expression as in the two last verses. It is the BiLsio of 
Lope, — I had almost said, aggrandized and ennobled ; but Lope 
( certain extravagancies set apart ) has made him also chivalric and 
lofty. He is, in fact, the salient character in the Estrella. 
Esc. IV. King and Arias. — King says : 

" Rey. Hasta aqui pudo llegar : 
Su muerte al fin resolvi." 

Esc. V. Sancho Ortiz, whom the King has sent for, arrives. 
Here we have the popular surname attributed to him : 

" Dicen que valiente es. 
Llamanle el Cid Sevillano." 

Lope, who invented the designation, uses " Cid Andaluz." 

In the whole of this fine Scene, the modern poet follows pretty 
closely his original. The King gives two papers, the first of whicli, 
assuring immunity, Sancho refuses to accept, relying nobly on the 
King's honor : the second contains the name of the party he is 
to slay. 

Esc. VI. Clarindo brings Ortiz a letter from Estrella, announcing 
their approaching marriage. Then follows, admirably as to posi- 
tion, the Vllth Scene, in which Sancho Ortiz, aloiie^ opens the 
paper containing the name of the man he has engaged to kill. It 
is one of those soliloquies, a conflict between love and duty, pre- 
ceded by amazement and horror, which are touchstones of the true 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 171 



artist, and I have to say, that though as well done as such mono- 
logues in general, and better than most of Lope's, it disappoints. 
As Ortiz goes out, enters Tabera ; and this forms the Vlllth Scene, 
where the defiance takes place. It is well done. Bustos, stung to 
passion, says, much as in Lope (the third and fourth verse being 
taken directly thence ) : 

"£?<«. Si presumis 

Encontrar mancha en mi f e, 
Como irn villauo mentis, 

Y aqm os lo snstenare. {Echa7ido mano a la espacla. 
San. Tened, Tabera, la espada, 

Que en casa del Eey estamos. 
Bus. En casa tan delicada 
Estarlo no importa nada 
Quando tal punto tratamos." 

They go out together, and the Act closes. 

Ado Segundo. 

Esc. I. Estrella just arrayed for her bridal. — It is excellent, 

barring the great fault ( in my eyes ) that EstreUa says to her 

servant what she would only say to herself. But she says it better 

than under similar circumstances in Lope. This is very fine : 

" Quisiera hoy ser la mas bella 
De qiiantas hay en Sevilla, 
Porque el placer de Don Sancho 
Con mi content© compita. 
; Que gloria sera ser suya 
Despiies de tales fatigas, 
Tales sustos, diadas tales, 
Tanto suyas como mias ! " 



Again she says: 



" Pareceme que le veo 
Banado el rostro de risa 
Acercarse, el mas gallardo, 
De Sevilla : — que Sevilla ! 
Ni todo el orbe a mis ojos 
Contiene igual gallardia. 
i C6nio al alargar la mano 
Se esmerara su caricia ! 
Pienso escucharle, y que dice 



172 PREFACE TO 



!Mil cosas tan bien sentidas, 
Que sale el alma a los ojos 
Con el amor que las clidta." 

Shakspeare has not surpassed this in his Juliet, (I mean, in his 

best parts, — that is, those that are natural ) 

Then follows ( Esc. II. ) the dialogue with Clarindo, from which 

may be cited this fine, though in the mouth of a servant, doubly 

misplaced compliment : he is telling Estrella how Sancho received 

her letter : 

"... tan desnsada luz, 
Tan desusada delicia, 
Brillaba en su bella frente 
Quando la carta leia, 
Que ni la he visto jaraas, 
Ni s6 j-o como se pinta, 
Sino llamandola igual 
A la que mostrais vos misma." 

Trigueros takes care, in the interchange of the jewels, to say noth- 
ing of the broken one. 

Esc. III. Tlie Uoodstained corpse of Bustos is brought in. — In 
this Scene a great artist would have made his genius unmistakable. 
But Trigueros is not great, and where his original failed he has 
shown still greater deficiency, and not only proves incapable of ren- 
dering passion and the sudden conflict of violent contrary emotions, 
but forgets even his usual taste and judgment. When Estrella 
says, what in Yirgil is allowable enough in narration, 

" La voz se pega a las fauces — 
Los cabellos se me erizan " — 

she says what in her situation is merely ridiculous, and the poet, 
borrowing extravagance to give warmth to what is cold-blooded, 
out-Lopes Lope. 

In Esc. IV., V. and VI., Sancho does better, and especially in VI, 
where he is questioned by Farfan ( the Alcalde ). 

In Esc. VII, Estrella, in colloquy with Sancho, becomes reason- 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 1^3 



able and affecting, although she speaks perhaps more than is natural 

for the occasion. 

" Estr. Dime, corazon de piedra, 
Sanclio, por mi mal nacido, 

En qne te ofendi6 mi hermano ? 
Estrella en que te ha ofendido V " 

But Ortiz, though he gives despite of himself certain indications of 

who has set him on to slay her brother, will answer nothing 

directly : 

" Entended vos lo que callo 
Por lo mismo que no digo." 

So that Estrella finally cries to the Alcalde : 

" Quitad, Farfan, de mis ojos, 
Quitad, OS iiiego, ese risco, 
Que es mas dui'o en la disculpa, 
Qiie fuc en el mismo delito." 

Again, Esc. VIII. is unnatural, especially as the long monologue 
which Estrella delivers is not a soliloquy ( as it should be, a self- 
discourse representing to an audience what is really said iuaudibly 
in the speaker's brain ), but is spoken in the presence of Teodora 
and Clarindo ; which would deprive it of all truth-likeness, even did 
it accurately describe what might be supposed to pass in the mind 
of a person plunged, like her, from the top of all but complete 
felicity to the very bottom of the most tragical distress. 

Ado Tcrcero. 
Esc. I. The King, in presence of Arias, confers with the Alcaldes 
about Sancho Ortiz, and finally, through them, puts Sauclio's gen- 
erous and loyal reticence to this extraordinary trial : 

" De mi parte le decid, 
Que dig a por quien le dio 
Muertc, 6 quien le persuadlo 
A ello, y le prevenid 
Que uuo diga, aunque sea j-o. 
Mas si callar es su intento, 



174 PREFACE TO 



Que hoy mismo de su desliz 
Dard publico escarmiento." 

Esc. II. The confidant ( Arias ), this time, advises the King on 
the side of honor, namely, that he should in any event save Ortiz. 

Esc. III. The King talks briefly with his conscience. 

Esc. IV. ; where Estrella comes to solicit of the King that tlie 
homicide shall be delivered to her. — It is weh dooe. The King 
gives her a writing and his ring, that she may efiect her purpose, 
but accompanies the act with the commonplace gallantry of a com- 
pliment suggested by her supposed cruelty on this occasion and his 
own experience of it in another form. He says : 

" Sed tirana, si en Cielo 
Es posible haber tiranos, 
Aiinqiie conocido llevo, 
Que en vos y en vuestra beldad, 
Bien que parezcais deidad, 
El ser may crael no es mievo." 

To which she answers proudly, or indignantly, or coldly, or perhaps 
with an air of all three modes combined : 

" E,str. Si fuera mi beldad rara 
Causa de que peligi-ase, 
Antes de que me danase 
De mi beldad me librara : 
Yo misma hon-ible me hiciera 
Antes que injuriarme yo ; 
Que si un Tabera murio, 
Ha quedado una Tabera." 

The last haughty sentiment is after Lope's 

" Si un Tabera murio, qviedo una Tabera." 

Esc. V. The King, repenting his complacency, is advised by 
Arias to have Estrella arrested, which, after rejecting the idea as 
unworthy, he consents to do if no other mode remain of effecting 
his object, and the lady is to be appeased by a marriage with some 
grandee. 

The King, left alone ( Esc. VI ), communes again with the god 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 175 



within him, and conducles with a good moral in the form of a moni- 
tion to crowned heads in general : 

" Reyes, huid del furor, 
Hiiid de un consejo fiero ; 
Sea mi exemplo el postrero : 
Un error llama otro eiTor ; 
Libraos bien del primero."' 

Ado Cuarto. 

In the prison. — Esc. I. The Alcaldes cannot extort from Ortiz 
the true impulse to the homicide. In Esc. II. Arias tries it after 
the manner prescribed by the King ; but, though Sancho is made 
(I think, injudiciously) to throw out intimations that could be 
interpreted only in one way, he will not implicate the King. His 
language throughout is lofty, while free from exaggeration. And 
when Arias concludes with a serious warning, Ortiz answers: 

" San. El que con su deber cumple 
Ve desplomarse los cielos, 
Sin que el susto de los otros 
Le prive de estar sereno : 
Es inocente, y no teme 
Ni el negro nombre de reo." 

Esc. III. Sancho soliloquizes at great length, but well ; and his 
loyalty, which gives rise to noble sentiments, is consistent through- 
out. It is seldom, in any writer, that we find a true soliloquy so de- 
serving of commendation, and so little censurable for want of exact 
observation of nature. The reveries in which he indulges contrast 
strongly with the partial lunacy of the same character in Act III. 
Sc. VII. of the original, and when Clarindo appears ( Esc. IV. ) we 
have a dialogue reasonable and to the point. 

Esc. VI. EstreUa enters. — Sancho does not mistake her ( and 
indeed she removes her vail almost at once ; ) but the poet, witli 
excellent judgment, has made him speechless for s^me minutes; 
and when she tells him that a horse awaits him, and his servant 



176 PREFACE TO 



will want nothiQg for their journey, he pays no attention to it, but 
answers only when she repeats her exhortation to go : 

" San. SeOora 

Ay Sancho Ortiz ilesdichado ! 
Estrella del alma mia ! 
Estr. Vete, y se de hoy mas feliz : 
Ya haciendo lo que debia, 
Estrella soy que te giiia, 
Clara antorcha en tu desliz. 
Vete, y si amor atropella 
Por el mas ji;sto rigor, 
Ve, conservando el amor 
Que merecisteis a Estrella." 

There is great tenderness, with much of flowing sweetness, in the 
whole Scene. It is but justice to transcribe a considerable portion *. 

" Estr. Si no conociera j'o, 

Que si un hermano perdi, 

Tanto pesar te costo 

Como el que me cuesta a mi, 

Quiza no te libertara : 

Pero te conozco, Ortiz ; 

Todo mi amor lo repara : 

A un criminal no salvara, 

Pero salvo a un infeliz. 
San. La desdicha de mi suerte 

Me entrega a la muerte fiera : 

Ya solo puede la muerte 

Cambiar mi suerte severa, 

Que me abruma, aunque tan fuerto. 
Estr. Vive, yo \dda te doj-. 
San. Y yo a la muerte me voj', 

De que tii librarme quieres ; 

Que si obras como quien eres, 

Yo he de obrar como quien soy. 
Estr. Por que mueres ? 
San. Por vengartc. 
Estr. De que ? 
San. De mi alevosia. 
Estr. Si pudiera imagiuarte 

Capaz de accion tan impia, 

No pensaria en librarte ; 

Pero conozco bien yo 

Qual cs tu i^roceder justo. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 111 



La pasion no me cego : 

Quando Ortiz mato a Don Bnsto,* 

Grande fiierza le oblige. 
Sail. Ah I minca yo le matara, 

Si no matarle pudiera. 
E-str. Ni yo jamas te sal vara, 

Si imaginara 6 creyera, 

Que Ortiz de otro modo obrara : 

Te f orzaron a matar, 

Lo conozco, y no te obligo 

A que digas tu pesar ; 

Mas yo tambien se callar ; 

Lo conozco, y no lo digo. 

Vive pues, por vida nda." 

If there is no remarkal3le vigor in the passage, there is a dignified 
calmness and eminent propriety. Though passion might have been 
allowable to Sancho. perhaps in a degree to Estrella also, yet T 
know not but that, under the depressing melancholy of the circum- 
stances, the tone observed has more of the color of reality. Sancho 
of course does not yield : 

" San. De vos ausente, 
Y de esperanza apartado, 
Perdiendo la fe debida, 
(, A quien debo dedicar 
Aun estos restos de vida ? 
Despues que me hice homicida, 
Vivir fuera mas pesar. 
Dexadme en el mal que estoy, 
Pues es mas mal el vl\'ir, 
y ya mi sombra no soy : " 

and the last words between them are : 

" Estr. A Dios, y olvidad a Estrella. 
Sa7i. No OS acordeis vos de Oi-tiz." 

* I had canceled Don, supposing it an error; for the metre, owing to the ac- 
cented 6 in "mato "', is complete without it, and its use would be an absurdity for 
EstreUa in this place. But, just before the page was to be cast, I came across a 
copy of the play with the imprint of Madrid (18o 1804), and there it stood also. It 
may stiU be an eiTor, copied from one book in another ; for the Teatro Espaflol 
•was published in London in 1817. I can hardly think that the poet, had he 
wanted an additional syllabic, would not have found it preferably in su or mi. 
8* 



178 PREFACE TO 



Acto Quinto. 

In the palace. Esc. I. King and Alcayde. — A good Scene, to 
the same efifect as in Lope. The latter's characteristic anachronism 
has not been overlooked, and the King orders Sanclio to be brought 
to him in a litter, with every precaution for secrecy. The King 
alone ( Esc. II. ) resolves fully to release Sancho, although he ex- 
presses fears because of the rectitude of the judges. 

And with cause. Esc. Ill, IV, and V. : — the King having 
sounded and flattered, both together and separately, the two Al- 
caldes, thinks {Esc. VI. ) that he has found them mere wen after all. 
Follow a brief reflection and moral on the efficacy of the weakest 
words of a king, and he is promising himself to reward Sancho while 
ostensibly punishing, by banishing him to the command of a fron- 
tier, when 

( Esc. VII. ) enter the Alcaldes with the sentence. ( By the by, 
the interval is too brief to admit of its having been written, let 
alone considered.) It pronounces decapitation. One of them says 
to the King: 

" Como a vasallos nos manda ; 
Mas como Alcaldes mayores 
Somos la misma ley sacra. 
Y si ella no lo permite, 
Ni empeilos ni riiegos bastan ; 
Que el Cabildo de Sevilla 
Es quien es."" — 

The King interrupts impatiently : 

'■'■Bey. Basta ya, basta. (fca." 

Esc. VIII. — Arias introduces Estrella, which adds to the King's 
perplexity and vexation. 

Esc. IX. , and the last. — The Alcayde and Ortiz are added to 
the group. The King's desire to set Ortiz free is enforced by Es- 
trella's supplication. But Farfan, the Alcalde, remonstrates, and the 



THE PID OF SEVILLE 179 



King, put upon his mettle, acknowledges himself to have been 

the inciter of the crime : 

>■<■ Farf. Mirad, Seflor, os suplico, 
Que la justicia se agravia : 
Pedir la parte por el 
No es descargo de su falta ; 
Plies la publica vindicta 
EstA clamando. — 

Eey. Ya basta. 
Todos, menos yo son heroes 
En esta dichosa patria : 
Tambien j'o ser qiiiero hablando 
Tan heroe como el qne calla. 
Matadme a mi, SeviUanos, 
Que yo solo fui la causa 
De esta muerte : yo mande 
A Ortiz que a Bustos matara." 

Arias is rewarded for his flattery and bad advice hy exile. And 
the piece concludes with Estrella's declaring her purpose to bury 
herself in a cloister, while Sancho requests permission to depart 
immediately for the frontier. 

'' Estr. .... 

. . no es Estrella muger, 
Que aunque le adora y le ama, 

Y aunque su hermano Don Bustoa 
Con gran placer lo aprobaba, 
Consienta jamas en ver 

A su lado a quien le mata. 
* * * * 

permitid 
Que sola y desamparada 
En la lobreguez de un claustro 
Mientras viviere, encen ada 
Me castigue de querer 
Bien al que a Bustos matara. 
San. Yo, Seflora, al Rey su empeno, 

Y a vos suelto la palabra ; 
Que fuera etemo torraento 
IMorar en aquella casa 
Donde mi mano cruel 

Os di6 penas tan amargas . 



]80 PREFACE TO 



"Vivid, y sed venturosa, 

Y olvidad al que os agravia. 
Estr. No OS olvidare, Don Sancho. 
San. Tanta sera mi desgracia. — 

Senor, contra el fiero iloro 

Permitid que luego parta. 
Rey. Id con Dios, y dexad tiempo 

De admirar vuestras hazaftas, 

Que me tiene sori^rehendido 

Vcr en solo un dia tantas. — 

Oh pasion ! Oh mal consejo ! 
Farf. Que vos lo conozcais basta. 
Todos. La heroicidad da pi-incipio 

Donde la flaqueza acaba." 

It would have been better if the two last verses, which, as assigned 
to all the interlocutors, destroy the actuality of the Scene and are 
besides insignificant, had been omitted, or perhaps the three last; 
for Farfan's remark, even if it be interpreted as a compliment, is 
rather too bold to be addressed to the King. Yet contrast this 
close with Lope's, and say wliich has the advantage ? 

What reputation Trigueros' play enjoyed I know not,* but Cor- 

* "Like the subsequent attempts of Trigueros to accommodate some of Lope 
de Vega's plays to the same system of opinions," [to bring them, that is, "under 
the canons that gcvemcd Comeille and Racine,"] "it was entirely unsuccessful. 
The difference between the two diiSerent schools was so great, and the effort to 
force them together so violent, that enough of the spirit and grace of the original 
could not be found in these modernized imitations to satisfy the demands of any 
audience that could be collected to listen to them." Ticknor. Hist. Sp. Lit. 
( N. y. So. 1849 ) III. p. 320. 

In a note to the Introduction ( by A. Anaya ) to the Teatro Espanol^ I read : 
"Dos sugetos benemeritos ban contribuido en nuestros dias a realzar el crfedito de 
Lope de Vega. El uno es Don Antonio de Sancha, ... el qua! pubUco la edioion 
de las obras sueltas de este autor, .... y el otro es Don Candido Maria Tri- 
gueros, quien refundio varios de sus dramas, cuyo trabajo ha merecido la aproba- 
cion del publico Eapallol." 

Mr. Ticknor's opinion, always to be respected, is in the present case so unten- 
able, as I think my analysis will have shown, that I can hardly believe he had 
redd the modernized, remodeled and almost newly-written play. It is impossible 
that a drama like Sanchn Ortiz should not please, yet it is very possible also that 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 181 



neille's, it might be said, was world-renowned. Yet, as I have 
declared, there can be no comparison between them.* In all the 

a mixed audience in Spain would prefer the romantic drama and dramatic 
romance ( » ), the tragi-comedy of Lope, to the pure tragedy of the best school 
which is Trigueros', precisely as a like audience with us would sit out with interest 
the performance of the longest mixed drama of Shakspeare's, and prefer it to 
any the noblest modification that could of it be made. If popular success is a 
test of the merit of dramatic representations, then Humpty-Dumpty, which has 
been enacted nearly 400 times in continual succession, and draws still its nightly 
audience, is the masterpiece of the age. 

* Herr von Shack, — who, I must observe, is rather too enamored of his sub- 
ject, and, a true German, is apt to lose in enthusiasm the coolness which is need- 
ful for judgment, — Shack has much the same opinion that I hold as to Le Cid ; 
but he carries his depreciation to an extent that transcends somewhat the limit of 
fairness. He \vrit8s, I think, with a prejudice, that may be said to be natural to 
one of his country, against that form of the serious drama of which the French 
school, at its most flourishing period, affords by no means the happiest exemplifica- 



{ a) See, besides Mr. Ticknor's comprehensive work, ( which, with characteristic completeness, is fully 
indexed,) Lemcke — Handb. d. Sp. Lit. 3r. B. B. 185 : Viardot — htudea sur VHist. des Instil., de la Litter., du 
Thdtre et des Beaux-Arts en Espafne ( Paris, 80. 1835, ) commencing at p. 33i, and observing particular!/ 
pp. 336, sqq. The author docs not seem to have known the Estrella of Lope, except, as I first knew it only, 
in its modern form, for he names it Sancho Ortis de las Roelas, and must have been altogether ignorant of 
Diamante's play, since we find him with a double incorrectness saying : " Peraonne n'ignore que Le Cid eat 
imite des deux auteurs espagnols Guillen de Castro et Diamante, qui avaient traite ce sujet national sous 
le litre de las Mocedades del Cid." Also, on Spanish Comedy, Bouterwek'a Hist, of Span, and Portuguese 
Lit., vol. 1. p. 365 sqq. of the English version : ( Lond. 80. 1829, ) : and, for a comparative view of both the 
French and Spanish drama, the 2d volume of Adolphe de Puibusque's Hist. Comparee des Litt. Esp. et 
Frangaise i Paris, 1S43, in 80 :) pp. 9.^117 with Notes 6 and 7. The author gives there an analysis of 
Guillen de Castro's two-fold play. But he has slightly misrepresented the final Scene of the 2d Part; for 
the Cid, who has chafed his sovereign by making him go through, with great solemnity, three forms of an 
oath (v. Mariana. Hist. Gen. de Esp. ed. Sabau. Tom vi, p. 74, note: Sandoval. Hist, de los Reyes de Cast. 
y de Leon, ic. ( Pampl. 4to. 1615 ) ff. 36, 39.) averring that he has had no part 

" Ni aun con solo el pensamiento " 
in the murder of his brother, leaves at first in displeasure :— 

" Dicg. El Cid ae parte enojado. 
Arias. Colfirico el Rey le mira : " 

which is nature as well as history and tradition. And then, after these two verses, enter Urraca and Zaida 
(daughter of the K. of Seville, whom Alonso VI. subsequently married under the name of Isabel); and 
TTrraca says : 

" Vrr, I Donde vas, Cid castellano 7 
I Donde vas, Eodrigo fuerte, 
Tan compuesto y tan airado J 
Cid. Voy, Infanta, voy, seiiora, 
A dejardeser vasallo 
De un Rey que me estima poco." 

The Cid however returns at the desire of Urraca, and Alonso ( at the whispered suggestion of Arias] 
appeases him, so as to receive at his hands the crown. But there is no real reconciliation, certainly not oil 
the side of the King. 



182 PREFACE TO 



merits of a tragic drama Sancho Ortiz is as far before Le Cid, as the 
latter is before the Cato of Addison. Corneille improved upon his 
copy, but only partially, and he lost, in empty and dravi^n-out 
declamation and the monotoDy of his artificial verse, the hveliness, 
the variety, and rapid action of De Castro, while he added to his 
frequent unnaturalness and extravagant conceits an impossible dia- 
logue of his own. Trigueros, on the contrary, excluding all unneces- 
sary characters, modifying or rewriting entirely the dialogue, and 
adding to the tragic tone, has not lost any of the merits of his 
original, whose fluent and melodious verse he often improves upon, 
whose sentiments he prunes of their extravagance, or imitates, 
where best, by others of his ovm, while, to condensation and the 
beauty of regularity, he adds the charm of an harmonious tragic 
tone which gives unity of color to his work and makes its chiaros- 
curo still more effective. "When one reads Sancho Ortiz first, as I 
did, then, years afterward, retaining the impression made upon him, 
opens eagerly the Estrella^ anticipating increased delight, and finds 

tion. See, in the work and volume above-cited, pj). 437, 439 — 142. The ci-iticism is 
too long to copy here in full ; but the following eloquent passage ma}' be admitted : 

. . "waser [CorneiUe] von positiven Gutem hat, ist dem Spanischen entlehnt. 
Aber wie erstarrt und vergrobert Alles ! Wo ist jener bald zarte, bald maclitige 
Hauch der Poesie geblieben, der uns aus dem Spanischen St'ucke erquickend und 
belebend entgegenweht ? Statt seiner finden wir den hohlsten rednerischen 
Pomp, statt der Sprache der Empfindung [which he forgets De Castro does not 
always give us ] eine bombastiche Pliraseologie, statt des bei Guillen de Castro so 
trefflich motivirten Kampfes zwischen Ehre, Liebe und kindlicher Pflicht eine 
widcrwartige Koketterie mit diesem Gef iihl, statt der Heldengestalt Rodrigo's, 
die sich in lebendig vorgef i'lhrten Thaten spiegelt und entfaltet, einen prahlenden 
Grosssprecher. . . . Bedenken wir nun, dass diese Tragodio noch immer eine 
der besten der franzosichen Biihne ist, so mussen wir erstaunen, wie diese Armsel- 
igkeit den Spaniem einer spatem Zeit so imponiren konnte, dass sie den reichen 
Flor ihres Nationaltheaters dariiber vergassen." [This last clause indicates of 
itself the writer's preference of the romantic drama, even in that extravagant 
form in which it might be truly called a romance in dialogue.] 

His animadversion may be thought in part too severe, — and one of its ex- 
pressions, "vergrobei-t," is undoubtedly iU-considered ; but its general bearing 
on the merit of the Cid is, of course in my opinion, only just. Perhaps the con- 
clusion might be excepted, where, speaking of the epithet great as applied to 
Corneille, he does not hesitate to say, that if it is grounded lyn the Cidy loe can 
only adopt it in an ironical senfie. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 183 

that the former was superior not only in the symmetry and stateli- 
ness of the whole body, but in the beauty and even vigor, and cer- 
tainly the harmonious adaptation, of its various members, he 
experiences a disappointment that is greater still than his surprise. 
In Sa/icJio Ortiz the interest excited does not flag, our sense of pro- 
priety and love of probability are seldom shocked, and the mag- 
nanimity of the sentiments, if it ever seems constrained, never 
degenerates into pomposity by inflation of the language. Add to 
these attractions what is said above about the tone, — though tliat 
is a delicate property of coloring which is not perhaps so easily 
perceptible to every reader, — and he who has not redd the recon- 
structed and emended drama has yet before him a pleasure to which 
I am glad to furnish this incitement. 

As for ray own play, it will be seen that I have taken but the 
bare skeleton of the story, which I have clothed with flesh after 
my own fashion, and given it motion as my sense and taste directed. 
In two instances where I have imitated the Spanish poet directly, 
one in a sentiment, the other in a briefly related incident, accessory 
but not essential to the plot. I have cited the corresponding pas- 
sages among the iVo/e.v. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 



MDCCCLXVIII 



CHARACTERS, etc. 

Saxcro IV., King of Castile. 

Luis' Gonza'lez de Lara, a nobhman attached to the King's 

j^erson, and his favorite. 

RiJY Ortiz, , 

Cavaliers. 
Ferrar' Montoya, 

Pedro Loriguillo, . , , ^ 

, Alcaldes. 
Diego Alfonso de Ribilla, 

An Usher. 

A Franciscan Friar. 

A Page. 

Alda, Montoya's sister. 

AkkCs Maidens. Citizens. Guards. 



Scene, Seville, in the Year 1294. 
Time. That occupied hy the action. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 



Act the First 

Scene I. An antecliamher in the Alcazar, or royal residence. 

Ferrar Montoya. Luis de Lara, entering. 

Ferr. Encounter'd well. A word with thee. 

Luis. I hear. 

'T would please me could I say, with pleasure hear. 

But Don Ferrar' Montoya's tone is rough, 

And his demeanor haughty ; let me add, 

His throat too broad for chamber of the King. 
Ferr. So have that straiten'd. For the roughen'd tone. 

It suits the occasion and my instant scope, 

Which points at thee. And let these dainty walls^ 

Echo it to Don Sancho's self, I reck not. 

Where the Moor trod in freedom, shall the feet 

Of a Castilian be less proud ? Despite 

My prohibition, Don Luis' de Lara, 



188 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



Thou com'st more near my sister than I hke, 
And giv'st her umbrage. Thou wast there to-day. 

Luis. What gives thee right? 

Ferr. Be anger'd not too soon. 
When thou hear'st all, thou wilt not lack for cause, 
If such thy bent. If for thyself alone 
Thou wooest my sister, or, what to suppose 
Dishonors thy great blood and brands thy soul 
Bastard of lineage, thou the insulting suit 

Of one who is mightier than thou 

Usher presents himself at the door above and hows. 
I am summon'd. 
Ponder my words. [^Exit above. 

Luis. I will. I have weigh'd their sense 
Already, and thy life and mine hang pois'd 
In the unequal balance. Blame thyself, 
Thou arrogant braggart, if thine shall kick the beam. 

Scene changes to 



Scene IT. 

The lung's Cabinet. 
The King. Ferrar approaching. 

King. What shall be done to pleasure Don Ferrar, 
Whom the King loves to honor ? 

Ferr. This to hear 



ACT I. SC. 2. 189 



Is from the King more honor in itseU" 
Than my poor state deserves. I have a sister, 
Who forms at once my solace and sole care. 
Orphan' d with me, her beauty and rare worth 
Are unto me, who know no other joy, 
The bloom of Paradise. How shall I keep 
The Devil from the wall ? 

King. That should her w^orth, 
Beauty's best fortalice. 

Ferr. That will her worth, 
When openly assail'd. But lust has arts 
As well as warfare. By a traitor's stroke 
Your royal foresire fell, when off his guard.'* 
So may be taken Alda. Tester night, 
Some lover who had brib'd my house-slave stole 
Darkling into my hall, — and would have died there, 
Had he not dar'd to call himself the King. 
I dropp'd my sword, but told him that he lied, 
For never king would stoop to act so base.^ 
King. Thou shouldst have cut the tongue out by the roots, 
That durst the treasonous falsehood. 

Fer7\ Even for that 
My hand sunk nerveless. In the name of King, 
Though falsely worn,* sounds what in loyal hearts 
Wakes reverence next to Grod's. Endanger'd thus, 
Alda were safer as some brave man's wife. 
Therefore, as orphan of a noble house, 
She appeals through me that I may have her wed. 
Does the King grant It ? 



190 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



King. Hast thou chosen well ? 
Ferr. Her lover is of lineage and worth, 
Loyal and valiant. 

King. Be it as thou wilt. 
Ferr. I thank Your Majesty, and take my leave. [Retires. 
King, [to Usher] Waits Don Luis' Gonza'lez ? [Usher hows low. 

Bid him in. 
[Fxeunt Ferrar and Usher. 

Ah, traitor ! And to this my lawless love 

I should have stabb'd thee then, when in the dark 
Thou durst confront me, nor have left that throat 
To mock me with the echo of my shame. 

Perhaps Why, it were well this dragon brother 

And loud-voic'd subject, who dares pluck my beard 
Even with the hand of reverence, should lie there 
Where he will rant no longer, nor keep guard 
Over the golden apples. No ! he spar'd. 
Though hot with ire, my life 

Enter De Lara. 
The Usher ^1 at a signal from the King^ retires. 

Ah, Don Luis' ! 
My friend and counselor, though evil oft. 
As all who counsel to our passions are, 
When they offend not. 

Luis. But my lord will own, 
I have ventur'd, even while aiding him to win 
What I could not divert from, — ventur'd more 
Perhaps than fits a liegeman, — to denounce 



ACT I. SC. 2. 191 

As wild and full of risk to royal honor 

This amorous pursuit. I venture still. 
King. And with a mien so grave ! Hast thou too, friend, 

Met with the Achilles and been hufif'd ? 

Luis. I had 

From Don Ferrar Montoya a reproof 

Not to be soon forgotten. His eyes are open 

Unto my simular suit. He all but nam'd 

Your Grace as the true lover. 

King. And was that all ? 

Why, that was modest. In our very teeth 

He threw last night's bad venture, though my voice, 

When, taken by surprise, confus'd I cry'd 

'' I am the King," could scarce have been unknown. 
Luis. That was not strange, as he had thrown already 

At the Alcazar's gate the unhappy slave 

Pierc'd by those death wounds.^ 

King. Ay, for very shame 

I durst not charge him with the insolent act; 

It had been to accuse myself. Nor did he dare 

To allude to his prompt vengeance. 'T was enough 

To hint my sceptre was not borne of right. 

Why dost thou start ? 

Luis. Permit me for a while 

Suspend reply, and be not wroth I ask 

Why Don Ferrar sought audience of my lord. 
King. 'T was a new insult under lowly guise. 

He would have Alda marry'd, to entrench her 

From amorous onslaught. How could I contend? 



192 THE CID OF SEVILLE 

Even had I thought it, taken all unarm'd, 
And haply conscience-wounded. 

Luis. Knows Your Grace 
The husband chosen ? 

King. I did not care to ask, 
Dissembling even while troubled. 

Luis. It is, believe, 
Don Ruy Ortiz, long the brother's friend 
And Donya Alda's lover. 

King. He said well, 
Valiant and loyal. 'T is my foremost knight, 
Brave as a lion, stancher than a hound. 
Luis. And, pardon that I dare to add, the man 

Most lov'd in Seville, where the people call him, 
Finding a harmony 'twixt his name and deeds, 
The Second Cid. Sees not Your Highness, then, 

The danger that, pursuing this amour 

I fear to offend my sovereign. 

King. Pray, proceed. 
Say what thou wilt, Luis' ; but be it new : 
I am weary of old saws, and moral texts 
Come handier still to me than thee.® 

Lids. So let 
Example speak for me. When King Rodrigo 
In the lock'd tower beheld tlie arrow'd Moor 
And redd the warning,'' little did he deem, 
A natural passion, peaceful in itself 
And peace-persuading, would bring men like that 
To strip him of his kingdom ; men Avhose tracks 



ACT I. SC. 2. 193 



Through half a thousand years have not worn out, 
While trampled Spain sees yet embath'd in blood 
Her fertile valleys in perennial war, 
All for one woman's beauty. 

King. Am I then 
Eodrigo ? is Ferrar the traitor sire, 
And Alda a Florinda ? 

Luis. Ah my lord, 
But for the brother's guard upon the casket. 
The emerald had been broken all the same.^ 
The royal Goth was mark'd by many traits 

That fit a monarch,^ till 

King. Why dost thou pause ? 
Till lust had shorn the seven locks of his soul 
And his gross life prepar'd him for a spoil 
To the Philistine. Am I such a dog ? 
Or dar'st thou make my paragon of him, 
Because like me he vaulted to a throne 
Whereon the natural claimants ^° could not sit ? 
There needs no protest ; I suspect thee not. 
Look through yon lattice, Don Luis' Gronza'lez. 
Thou seest the body of the mighty river," 
His strength and current; not his source ; though that 
Thou hast in mind, as that he seeks the sea. 
Think'st thou that any one day's sun, or week's, 
Would drain the stream ? Such is my passion, whose 

source 
I scarcely can recall : but well I know 
Its outlet. Alda is the sea whereto 
Vol. IL— 9 



194 TEUE CID OF SEVILLE 



Rushes my soul's broad river, nor can the sun 
Of reason dry it up, even shouldst thou dart 
For a whole week its rays upon the flood. 
Cease to dissuade. This marriage must be cross'd. 
Luis. That can be only by the brother's death, 
Or by the lover's. 

King. By the brother's, then. 
For scarce so much, my brother lost his head.^^ 
This insolent merits it. 

Luis. More than knows Your Grace. 
King. Ah ! Speak. 

Luis. Your Majesty ask'd me, why I started. 
'T was that Ferrar's word-treason call'd to mind 
What I have heard imputed to him. 

King. What? 
Luis. I speak it with reluctance. It is said, 
He favors the pretenders to your throne. 
If not in league with them." 

King. This thou hast heard ? 
Luis. Your Majesty should know too well my faith 
To need asseveration. 

King. So our course 
Is plain. He shah be given to the law 
On thy sworn charge. 

Luis. Your Highness will permit : 
This is but surmise, or a whisper'd tale. 
Taken with what was ofFer'd to your face, 
It is to me conclusive, and should be 
To your high self. But will it be enough 



ACT I. SC. 2. 195 



To force conviction ? Not to say, 't were wise 

Not to wake interest in La Cerda's claims 

Where it now dozes; for all faiths, not less 

In politics than in religion, rise 

From under pressure, and example calls. 

Even where its voice is feebler than with men 

Of Don Ferrar's repute, to active life 

The imitative power, perhaps most strong 

Of all the instinctive forces as 't is most prompt. 

Besides Your Highness' scope is not attain'd 

Save by the traitor's death. 

King. But law ? 

Luis. Laws take 
What course the King directs. So said shrewd wits. 
When the Cid's master back into the flames 
Threw the Goth's book and forc'd the forms of Rome 
To come out paramount.^* And so ^\\\\ say, 
With different emphasis, in some bolder age, 
Bold men and false, like Don Ferrar Montoya, 
Who find no violence legal but their own. 
King. Well said, Luis'. Thyself shalt put in act 
Thy own suggestion. In thy generous veins 
Flows his brave blood who challeng'd and o'erthrew 
In single fight Gonzalo's three strong sons 
That back'd Vellido,^^ and 't was thy prompt arm 
That lopp'd the audacious Haro's at the wrist 
And made thy King thy debtor." Slay Ferrar, 
And let me once more owe thee. 

Luis. my lord. 



196 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



In the poor deed you honor me to mention, 

Promptness was passion. I had done the same, 

Were the vile ingrate twenty men in one, 

Or the great Champion " himself. But now 

In cooler blood to venture were to imperil 

Your interests and my honor ; for Don Ferrar 

Stands, save one hero, first in skill and strength 

In all this kingdom.^^ It is not my life : 

That is your Highness' : but 't were not to serve you 

To fling myself against a rock. 

King. Then hire 
Some villain to perform the deed. 

Luis. My lord 
Forgets it must be instant. In broad day 
Who durst assail him ? There is but one man, 
I have said, in Seville, who can measure swords 
With Don Ferrar. It is the Cid of Seville. 

King. The intended husband ! 

Luis. Either way, my lord, 
Killing or kill'd, Don Ruy wins for you : — 
Alda remains unwed. 

King. That were a stroke 
Of subtle policy, but lawless-cruel. 

Luis. Is treason then less lawless ? Shall the King 
Not strike Avhen he is injur'd ? Must he wait 
The law's long trial like the meanest churl ? 
He who is master makes and unmakes laws ; 
And cruelty lacks not sanction where the act 
Is one of pressing need. Whereto might serve 



ACT I. SC. 2. 19V 



Your royal sire's example." In that fierce day 

Of sudden justice when De Ilaro fell, 

Your own hand smote Diego Lopez dead.^" 

Nov/, by another's hand, and at one blow. 

You strike down treason and break through all let 

To your heart's longing. 

King. But will Ortiz act 
Against his friend, his lady's brother ? 

Luis. Against 
Any or all, to serve his King. Exact 
Obedience from him, ere your Highness names 
The foe you dread. 

King. But thou art sure, Luis', 
Of this man's treason ? thou canst bring me proofs ? 
Luis. Not open, nor varied, for I had the tale 
At second hand, but in themselves complete. 
Might I, to one inur'd as is my lord 
To personal danger, who has fac'd unshaken, 
Arm'd and unarm'd, in palace and in camp, 
Treason and mutin}^,'^^ venture to suggest 
A thought of peril, I would say revenge 
Might make Montoya's dagger more to dread 
Than Dolfos' javelin or the unsheath'd sword 
Of the ungrateful Haro. 

King. Bring thou proof. 
The insolent traitor shall not live an hour. 

The King retii^es hy the door above, and 
the Drop falls. 



198 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



Act the Second 

Scene I. An apartment in the Jwiise of Montoya. 

RuY. Alda. 

Ruij. Truly, thou art so, Alda. Though at times 

I have seen thee thought-weigh' d, never was as now 
Thy fair brow shadow'd, nor the cloud came back 
So often. What bears on that gentle breast ? 
Which should not have a sorrow hid from me, 
And was till now so open that it seem'd 
To have a window where the sun shone in, 
That all men might behold what was so good 
And beautiful, nor lattice-bars shut out 
The tell-tale ray. 

Alda. When we are wedded, Ruy, 
Thou shalt not need a window to look in. 
I had a dreadful vision in the night, — 
Outrage and blood, a gulf between us two 
Bridgeless for ever, and the fathomless deep 
Of darkness over me : and that starless sky. 
With blackness which is felt and air that stifles. 
Hangs o'er me now ; nor will the dawn break forth 
Till we are married. On that happy day, 



ACT. II. SC. 1. 199 

Ask me, and, hiding on thy breast my eyes, 

I '11 tell thee all, and never more be sad. 

Thou art my sunshine, Ruy. In thy light 

And warmth my soul shall bask by the hour, and know 

Never more chillness and no gloom as now. 

Enter Ferrar, 

Ferr. I come from the Court. Lov'st thou my sister, Ruy ? 
She loves thee better than she loves aught else 
Save me, whom she has spoil'd, and better still 
I think than me. The King has given consent. 
Ye shall be wed on the instant. 

Alda. Ferrar ! 
So sudden ! 

Ferr. I have had a hideous dream. 

Rmj. Why so hath Alda ! 

Ferr. 'T is belike the same : 
Dishonor, ruin, the Devil in Paradise, 
And two souls blasted by a serpent's guile. 
Alda is beautiful : she needs an arm 
Stalwart as thine, Don Ruy, and a heart 
As true as thine, a husband's heart and arm. 
To guard her treasure. Wilt thou take her now ? 

Ruy. Take her ! I have no breath to speak. brother! 

Ferr. So get thee ready, Alda ; and thou, Ruy, 

Make what dispatch thou canst. An hour or two 
Should be enough, and ere the sun goes lown 

Aldo. But why this haste, my brother? 



200 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



Ferr. 'T is not alone 
What the dream orders. I have on my mind 
A sad foreboding, — vague, yet black as death. 
I would see Ruy's arm about thee thrown 
Ere my own withers. — Here is from the King. 

Enter Page. 

Pacje. His Majesty commands Don Ruy Ortiz. 
Alda. To honor and wish thee joy. 

Ferr. I hope it is. 
Ruy. Assure the King of my obedient homage. 
I come on the instant. [Exit Page. 

Ferrar ! my friend ! 
How shall I thank thee ? Alda, looks this change 
Too sudden to thee ? Let thy bi'other's love, 
Which tenders thee so dearly, speak for mine, 
And, giving him contentment, bless thou me. 
Alda. [to Ruy.'\ Has not the shadow vanish'd ? 

Ferr. Hasten back. 
And make thou no announcement more than needs. 
Till thou and Alda are one, I shall not know 
What is contentment. [Exit Ruy. 

Alda, listen. Briefly, 
Know'st thou who stole into the house last night? 
Alda. I tremble to suspect. 

Ferr. And dost suspect 
Because I slew him not. 'T Avas He. I saw it 
But now in his reddening visage, as I heard it 



ACT II. SC. 1. * 201 



Last night in his hurried voice. I need not name him : 

We must not speak dishonor of the King; 

A bird of the air shall carry it. He knows 

I am not blind nor deaf, knows by whose will 

The slave was butcher'd and her carcase laid 

At his palace gate. 

Alda. brother ! 

Ferr. It was just, 
If cruel: a warning to home-traitors. Thus, 
I have cause for dread. A king's hand reaches far ; 
His sword is in a thousand scabbards. But more 
My peril from the favorite's secret spite. 
Alda. What hast thou done ? 

Fej^r. What every man should do 
When time and place serve, spoken out my mind. 
I warn'd him from my door. 'T is like he comes 
On the part of the King. Pledg'd to El^na Gruzmau, 
He scarce would court, I think, Elena's friend. 
Why turn'st thou pale ? 

Alda. Ask not, not now, Ferrar. 
But beware ! De Lara has the ear 
And heart of the King. 

Ferr. For the time, alas, as had 
A greater favorite, and will fall as he. 
Honors and gifts when lavish'd on the unworthy 
Breed vanity, not gratitude, and kings 
Strangle, sometimes in blood, the o'erweening pride 
Born of their own indulgence. But, this day, 
Let omens vanish. It is so great a joy 
9* 



202 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



To have thee Euy's wife. How weh I love him! 

As well I think as thou, albeit indeed 

In other wise. Henceforward when in battle 

I help to ward the javelin from his breast, 

As I have done, I shall be shielding thee, 

Dear child, as well. Now, get thee to thy bower, 

And dight thee out as well as time will let. 

How fair thou art now ! [kisses her.] I go to call the priest. 

Until this knot be tied, my foot rests not. 

As he turns to withdraw, 
Scene changes to 



Scene II. 

As in Act I. Sc. II. 

King. De Lara. 

A Citizen of Seville, at a little distance, 

standing hefore the King. 

King. 'T is confirmation more than proof. There, go 
And be thou ready, when thou shalt be call'd 
To make the assertion good. [Exit Citiz. 

I like him not ; 
And but Ferrar's bold act, and insolent words 



ACT II. SC. 2. 203 



Tell their own tale, should doubt. Here comes Don Ruy. 
Leave us so long. \_Exit De Lara^ as 

Enter Ruy. 

Come nigher, Ortiz. 

The King extends his hand^ ivhich Ruy 
puts to his lips. 
I have sent for thee as best of all my knights, 
Don Ruy Ortiz. Thou art stanch and brave 
As thy fam'd namesake, true to mother-land 
As was Pelayo, and, as I have heard. 
And love to think, so faithful to thy King, 
That thou wouldst snap all ties of blood and love 
That fetter'd duty, so he enjoin'd. 

Buy. A king. 
Who is himself surnam'd the Strong and Brave,'^'* 
Finds easily valiant warsmen. For my love 
To country, I would pour my mother's blood, 
Were she now living, life-drop after drop, 
On its broad altar, so I could make it great, 
And free as it was ere gluttony and lust 
Let in the Moor. 

King. Well, well ! And for thy faith 
Unto thy King ? 

Ruy. Let but the King command. 
King. What merits he who is faithless to that King? 
Ruy. Death. 

King. If he were thy heart's twin, or thy brother ? 
Rug. Still, death, — though he were my sire. Duty knows 



204 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



No qualification, but is in herself 

Absolute, looking neither right nor left 

In the path before her, which she treads the same 

Though it cross the hill-tops or go down steep gulfs ; 

xVnd treason parts at once the false and loyal 

By space as vast as yawns 'twixt Heaven and Hell. 

He who to king or country is forsworn 

Is not my brother, nor could be my father. 

King. Wouldst thou then slay thy father or thy brother, 
If false to me ? 

Ruy. No, I would hand him over 
To the law's vengeance. 

King. Law sometimes draws-in 
Her unsure talons, and delays her clutch 
Till the prey 'scapes her. If a sudden blow 
Were needed to crush treason, wouldst thou give it ? 

Ruy. For my lord's welfare, at my lord's behest 
I would. 

King. In secret ? 

Ruy. No. The King calls not 
To murder, nor would make the man he honors 
A vile assassin. 

A pause, the King looldng fixedly at Euy. 

King. Ruy Ortiz, hear. 
A man I have honor'd, have sought to make my friend, 
Would seat my brother's offspring in my place 
And drench the land with blood. This very day, 
To wrong he has added insult, my strong claims, 



ACT II. SC. 2. 20o 



Youcli'd by the Cortes and my people's will.'^ 
Scoff'd at as false, and at ray house's gate 
Wrought scandal and done outrage. At thy hand 
I look for vengeance. Wilt thou wreak it ? 

Ruy. Yea, 
So be it openly. 

King. Thou wilt this do, 
Whoever be my wronger ? 

Ruy. Though he be 
My heart's sure friend, my brother, or my sire, 
In public place, in palace-yard, church-porch. 
Wherever I shall find him, will assault, 
And with God's help will slay him in fair fight, 
For my King's sake. 

King. Swear that upon my sword. 
Ruy. [kissing the hilt. 

By my lord's head, I swear. Who is the man ? 
King. It is thy friend, and brother that should be. 

Ruy. Ferrar ! 

King. Ferrar Montoya. 

Ruy. my lord ! 
Is the crime proven ? I had thought as soon 
Myself could be a traitor. Who avers it ? 
King. Luis' de Lara, and brings forward one 

Who ply'd between my enemies and Ferrar. 
There where thou stand'st the traitor fac'd thy King, 
And with word-insult pluck'd him by the beard. 
Ruy. 'T is my life's death, the blasting of all hope. 
Would I had died ere this ! 



20G THE CID OF SEVILLE 



King. Dost thou repent? 
Wilt thou too be forsworn ? 

Rmj. Not now, nor ever. 

But might some other hand 

King. No hand but thine 
Is able. Saving thee, Ferrar Montoya 
Is the best blade and body in all my realm. 
Here, take this writing, Ruy, and know beforehand 
Sancho is not ungrateful. Read aloud. 
Ruy. [reading. 

Know all who see this deed, how we, Don Sancho, 
By G-race of God King of Castile and Leon, 
Galicia, Sev'ille, Cor'dova and Murcia, 
Of Jaen and the Algar've, for the service 
Done us by Don Ruy Ortiz, give to him 
And covenant the tower call'd of Baiez, 

With its broad grange 

Returning the parchment'] Your Majesty will pardon ; 
I cannot take reward for such a deed : 
It v/ere the price of blood. 

King. No, in nowise. 
But guerdon of self-sacrificing faith 
And valor prov'd before. Be it as thou wilt. 

[King lays down the parchment 
This service done, thou shalt be plac'd in honor, 
As fits thee, on the frontier next the Moor. 
Till then, bear thou this letter of protection : 
It shields thee from the law. 

Ruy. Nor that, my lord : 



ACT II. SC. 2. 207 



It were to doubt your honor. I serve the King- 
He will not see me sufifer by the law 
For doing his bidding in my heart's despite. 

King. Keep it for thine own honor. 

Ruy. I obey, — 
To use it only when my lord commands. 

King. Be secret ; and be wary. Brave and true, 
Where should I find another like to thee ? 

King extends his handj 
which Ruy raises to his lips as before. 

Drop falls. 



208 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



Act the Third 

Scene I. A public square near Monfoya's hou<>e. 

Enter 

KuY and Ferrar, encountering ; the latter 

moving quicJcly and gayJy. 

Ferr. Ha, friend and brother ! — St. Francis' monk is toward. 

Art thou too ready ? Why, what a mien tliou wear'st ! 

Thou look'st not hke a bridegroom, not hke one 

O'erjoy'd to take what I so joy'd to give. 
Ruy. I can take nothing from Montoya's hand. 
Ferr. 'Fore God ! it is a noble hand. A king 

Might take from it what I give ; and what I give 

Is worthy of a king. 

Ruy. Not from thy hand. 
Ferr. Mine ! Art thou mad ? Or Avouldst thou drive me so ? 

I am thy equal at thy best, Don Ruy, 

And, talk'st thou thus, I am thy better too. 
Ruy. Never my better, and, take men's report, 

Scarcely my equal. 

Ferr. 'T is a baseless boast. 

Thou owest thy popular, title's short-liv'd sound 

More to thy forename's accident than sword. 



ACT III. SC. 1. 209 



My sword and lance have done as valiant work 
As thine. 

Ruy. They are a traitor's sword and lance. 
Ferr. Ah! [drawing. Then^ putting bach Ms iveapon : 
But thy senses wander. 

Ruy. They are home^ 
And tell me thou art perjur'd, — false to king, 
To country, and thus false to Alda and me. 
Draw, if thy sword is not a coward's. And quick ; 
There comes thy useless friar. 

Ferr. His cord, this time, 
Shall make no distaff of Montoya's blade.^* 
Ruy. Beware the nettles in the Ortiz' hand ! ^° [They fight 

Enter, hurriedly, 

severed Citizens ; among them the one who was hefore 

the King in Act II. ; a Franciscan Friar ; 

and finally the Alcalde Pedro. 

Friar. Part them ! [running up to them, ivith his cross extended. 
Pedr. In the King's name ! 

Ferr. [falling.] Dead. Poor Alda ! ^* 

Ruy is ari^ested, gazing continually on 

the body as they lift it, 

and 

Scene closes. 



210 THE CID OF SEVILLE 

Scene II. 

As in Act II. Scene I. 

Enter Alda 
Attended hy her maidens. She is in her luedding-rohes. 

Alda. Leave me, my maidens, now. And thanks to both ; 
Ye have deck'd me skilfully. [Exeunt Maidens. 

I will but add 
One flower which Ruy gave me. [Tahes a lohite /lower 
froin a vase and iilaces it in her hair : then comes down. 

Dear, dear Ruy ! 
How I do love him ! Love him ? Poor Ferrar, 
He has almost shut thee out from this weak heart 
Where thou once stood'st a god. All loves I have lov'd, 
To father, mother, to my childhood's friends, 
All seem concentred and made one in him. 
All but thy share, Ferrar, and that made less. 
Yet him ! yet Ruy ! If my whole heart's strength 
Could at a wish swell out a thousand fold, 
'T were not enough for him. What did he see 
To admire in such as I ? I am too small 
In the world's eyes, in all eyes but Ferrar's, 
For one like him. God, make me grow more fit; 
Let me catch some reflection from his brightness. 
Inbreathe some essence of his great heart's worth, 
To make me more his mate. What there shall lack 



ACT III. SC. 2. 211 



I must make up in duty and in devotion. 
Serving him as the angels worship God. 
Will the time come when I shall worship not, 
Or do as many, who with their wedding-robes 
Put off their smiles, and by indifference lose 
The prize of their heart's labor ? Not with me. 
My soul would pine should Ruy love me less. 
But still I should love on. — Ere many minutes — 
( I wonder that Elena is not come. ) 

Ere many minutes, the rites my poor heart, 

How shall I hush thy beatings ? But to think 

I shall in a little while be his, be Ruy's, 

And all for life, and he be mine, mine only, 

Nor any but me have any part in him; 

That I may be with him all alone, for hours, 

Day after day, may gaze upon his face, 

Nor be asham'd to tell him how I love ! 

Then shall his broad breast shield me, and 'neath his f.rm, 

As under its mother's wing the callow bird, 

My heart shall fear not. Then the King Ah me ! 

The shadow comes again that Ruy saw. 
I was too happy. Who shall foretell the morrow ? 
We go to sleep with the stars above us shining, 
And wake to clouds and rain. 

Enter the Friar and 

the Alcalde Pedro ; afterwards^ 

the two Maidens. 

Is it the priest? 



212 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



But who is with him ? And where is Ruy then ? 
My women ! and terrified ! my foreboding ! 
Friar. Daughter, prepare for sorrow. 

Alda. I am prepar'd. 
Frighten me not too much. Let me sit down. 
Friar. From Heaven flow out the springs of Hfe and death. 
Alda. [starting up.l Is Ruy dead ? 

Friar. No, daugliter. 

Alda. Is 'tFerrar? 
Pedr. Sit again, Donya Alda. I am the Alcalde, 

Pedro Loriguillo." A grievous crime 

Alda. Keep me not tortur'd. Tell me all at once. 
Pedr. [facing the door. 

Bring in the body. 

The Maidens go to the support of Alda, 

luho stands aghast. Enter Citizens loitli the corpse 

of Ferrar, uncovered^ on a hier, 

his naked sword beside him. 

Alda. Ferrar ! Dead ! Not a pulse ! 
No breathing ! my brother ! [Kneels beside the body, 
and hissing the face bends her own over it for some moment-^. 
All aronnd stand with various looks of sympathy, the 
Citizen who was ivitness before the King appearing 
discomposed. After this pause, Alda rises. 
AVarm ! and bloody ! 
What means his unsheath'd sword ? He has been fighting, 
Where was his friend, my husband ? where was Ruy ? 



ACT III. SC. 2. 213 



Where is he now ? What keeps him from me ? ^^ 

The Alcalde makes a sign, and the CiUzen-ivilness 

oj)e7is the door, ivhereat he remains luith evident trouble, while 

Enter Euy, guarded. 

Alda, seeing his position, stands as if stupefied, 

till he speaks, which is after some moments, and luith eyes doiun. 

Ruy. Alda. 
Alda. Art thou the assassin ? 

Ruy. I am. 

Alda. What had he done ? 
Ruy. Nothing to me : I lov'd him. 

Alda. And he thee. 
He would have given his life for thee. And thou 
Hast taken his. Was it murder ? Or did ye fight ? 
Ruy. We fought. He was unwilling ; and I provok'd him. 
Pedr. Take heed, Don Ruy, nor speak against thyself. 
Ruy. What matters it? It is the truth. I sought 
To slay him. 

Alda. Yet lov'd him ? It is past belief. 
Art thou gone wild ? 

Ruy. I am in my senses. I know 
My duty, and I did it. Ask no more : 
The seal is on my lips, nor shall be broken. 
Alda. I shall grow mad myself. [Putting both hands to her 
forehead. In so doing, she touches the fiower, and 
takes it out.^ This is the flower 
Thou gav'st. I press'd it to my heart and lips 



214 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



Before I plac'd it where I meant it should be 

My only jewel. Now that my bridal is made 

A funeral, I would lay it on the dead 

But that thou gav'st it. So let it deck the dust. [DrojJS it. 

This is my bridal robe, with one red spot 

Taken from the wound thou mad'st. Thy eyes drop tears, 

And make mine flow, Avhich have been dry till now. 

Will either cleanse that stain ? 

Buy. My sword is dimm'd 
With the like spot. They have taken it away, 

[looking round. 
Or I should bid thee turn its point on me, 
Or do it for myself. 'T is only blood 
Will wash out blood so taken. 

Alda. Even so. 
Therefore I hand thee over to the law, 
For that blood's sake. Remove him. 

But/, [raising his eyes to 
her for the first time.] Alda ! 

Alda. God ! 
[sinks into the arms of her maidens. 

Drop falls. 



ACT lY. SC. 1. 215 



Act the Fourth 

Scene I. As in Act I. Sc. II. 

The King. De Lara. 

King. What can I do ? I cannot stretch the law, 
Even for equity, while its servants hold 
The meshes close, nor let aught out or in. 

Luis. Has Your Grace try'd the levers of self-love ; 
The tongue of flattery and the bribes of place ? 
The Northwind made the traveler draw his cloak 
The closer for its blasts ; the subtil Sun 
Pierc'd serge and Hning, and he cast it off. 

King. It is that I have play'd the Sun, have tried 
The tongue of flattery and the bribes of place, 
That I am wOder'd. Ortiz gasps for me 
In the law's net, nor can I draw him out 
Except by rupture. Himself betrays me not; 
And silence is his death before such judges. 
One of them haply saw the deed perform'd. 
The other tells me proudly to my teeth : 
" The law hath more of majesty than kings : 
The sceptre of a king may stretch o'er all. 
Save Justice only ; for her throne is higher 



216 THE CTD OF SEVILLE 



Than all (he mountains, and on its unseen top 
The Spirit of God with never-folded wings 
Hovers to form its cope." I should be proud, 
That three sueh men as I\uy and my Alealdes 
Honor one eity ; yet their emulous worth 
Makes me perplex'd of purpose. Thou Luis', 
"Who hast plung'd me into the pit, now litY me out. 

Luis. 'T is not Air6n.'^^ My lord may let the law 
Pronounce on Ortiz : then his grace steps in, 
Changing the death to exile. 

King. With dishonor 
To him who would not tarnish by a word, 
Even for life's sake, mine. Wouldst thou then put 
Thy King below his subject ? 

Luis. Who, my lord, 
Compell'd him to the assumption of the guilt? 
I hear, the Alcalde warn'd him. 

Kinij. When too late ; 
Thus giving substance to what else were void. 

Luis. Since then the arrested has condemn'd himself, 
Your Majesty has but one choice, between 
Ortiz' dishonor and your own ; and this 
May not be thought of. 

King. Ah, behold, Luis', 
The well thou hast plung'd me into. 

Enter Ushkr. 

Speak, Varalba. 
Ush. May it please Your Majesty, the lady Alda 



ACT IV. SC. 1. 21V 



Montoya, with two maidens, craves access 
To my lord the Killf,^ 

Kiiuf. Aciinit the lady, bat not 
Her servants ; or no, ( that were not safe for me ) 

[dside to Luia. 
Let them in also. [Exit Uslier. 

Luifi. SufTer me withdraw. 
King. But to return. 

Enter Alda 

with her Maidens, luho remain at tHe door. 

She wears only the temporary mourning of a Mack mantle^ 

and a Jong crape vail falling on both sides of her 

head.^ De Lara, in passing^ salutes 

her formally^ hut is not noticed^ and Exit. 

Bend not the knee to me, 
Fair Donya Alda. Rather I should kneel, 
AVere worth and beauty worship'd, as behooves. 
Alda. My lord, I have left the body of my brother 
Scarcely yet cold. 

King. Forgive, that in the aun 
I reck'd not of the shadow. What can I do 
To stead you, Donya Alda ? 

Alda. Let my lord 
Have patience Avith his servant, while slie speaks. 
My brother is yet unbury'd, but the people 
Already talk of rescue for — for him 
Who was his murderer, whose great popular name 
Stands in the light of justice, and by its bulk 
Vor,. I [.—10 



216 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



Shuts out the law. If this is so or not, 
If — he who slew him, has had cause or not, 
I know not, but shall know. To me belongs. 
Who am sole of his name, to avenge my brother's death, 
I pray my King will not then with the law, 
Always uncertain and most often slow, 
Leave the assassin, but give him unto me." 
King, What wouldst thou do, O lady ? 

Alda. Wliat isfit. 
King. I can refuse thee nothing. Take this ring. 
But 0, be merciful. 

Alda. I shall be just. 
King. For my sake ! 

Alda. Was Your Majesty then by. 
Urging the assassin, when my brother fell, 
Pierc'd by his stronger sword ? [King shows confusion. 
King. There. As thou wilt. 

He extends his hand, which Alda, lifting it toward 
her lips, bows over, but does not kiss. 

Thou shouldst breed heroes. When thy weeds are gone, 
Some Rico-O'ine^"^ shall be glad to take thee 
From Sancho's hand. 

Alda. I never now shall wed. — 
With the King's leave. [Exeunt Alda and Maidens^ 
and 

Enter De Lara. 

King. The knot is cut, Luis'. 



ACT IV. SC. 1. 219 



What dost tliou think she came for ? 

Luis. To implore 
Mercy for Euy. 

King. That would scarce divide 
The entangled cord. No, Donya Alda pray'd, 
The assassin, whom she seem'd to fear to name, 
Might be surrender'd to her. 

Luis. Not for vengeance ? 
King. What else ? Thou shouldst have seen her. Why, Luis', 
She paragons Urraca.^^ 

Luis. Not in life. 
King. That understood, or how had come this coil? 
Even could such win favor. No, I meant 
In mettle. 'T was a tigress' eyes that glar'd 
Under that mask of beauty. 

Luis. And my lord 
Surrender'd Ruy ? 

King. I gave my signet-ring, 
Which lets her in his prison. Had she ask'd, 
I should have given my poniard. Well for me, 
That we were not alone ! Why look'st thou grave ? 
Luis. The woman may o'ercome the sister. If mov'd 
By love for Ruy, in vain the tigress' claw 
Opens upon her prey : the scent of blood 
Fresh on his hand will vanish, and the fur 
Covers the nails again. What then might pass 
Between them, when the prisoner's mind is sooth'd 
And weaken'd to confession ! It may be 
She goes to him to entice it. 



220 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



King. Thou forge tt'st 
She has had no time for thought. And saw I not 
The fire in her eyes ? no flickering glare, 
But steady and wrath-kindled. 

Luis. Will my lord 
Have me forgiven, if I dare suspect 
That fire of wrathful purpose threw its light 
On its true object ? 

King. Which it would consume ? 
Meaning ourself, ha ? 

Luis. With my lord's forbearance. 
I fear she has stumbled on the hidden spring 
Of Ortiz' deed and dumbness, and now seeks 
To lay it open. 

King. That should be thyself, 
Who didst suggest the deed, though thou meant'st us, 
For whose sake he is dumb. I heard her speak, 
And know she has no thought beyond revenge. 
Besides, it is too late. 

Luis. She cannot yet 
Have reach'd the Castle ^* 

King. What then ! the lady bears 
Our signet. Shall I call it back ? the King ! 
Not for a thousand fears. And these are vain. 
Thou look'st perturb'd. What though the fact wei'e told, 
The deed was just, and traitors may be crush'd 
By the King's heel, where law suspends her sword 
Over their necks too long. Let Ortiz speak, 
'T is but a short-liv'd shame, and throws me off 



ACT IV. SC. 2. 221 



My burden of gratitude, should his throat escape 
The tigress' blood-chitch. 

Luk. May it prove no worse. — 
Commands my lord no further? 

King. Learn for me 
What rumors stir the town. Then come again. 

De Lara retiring^ 

luith an anxious hok\^^ as the 

Scene doses. 



Scene IL 

A prison in the Castle of Triana."^ 

RuY is seen 

ivall'ing to and fro, loith arms folded and head deject 

He pauses^ and comes doivn. 

Ruy. I will not think it. 'T was the King that spake. 
Would the King lie ? It may be that Ferrar 
Believ'd Alfonso's rights by natural claim 
Better than are the King's, and, so believing 
Gave secret aid No, that were not Ferrari 



222 THE CID OF SEVILLE 

He was too fiery-open so to burrow, 
In any cause ; he would have taken the risk, 
Gone back to his Castile, and like a man 
Fought for the cause he favor'd." It must be 
The King was misinform'd. But outrage, — insult. — 
To his very beard ! at his house's gate ! The King 
Would not invent such baseness. I have done 
A liegeman's duty. But at what a cost ! 
Slain my heart's friend, and lost my heart's peace ever, 
With thee, poor Alda ! Poor indeed ! Ferrar 
Thought of thee thus, as life went out. — That haste 
To have thee married, and thy shadow'd mien. 
My thoughts still end in this : that haste — that haste. 
He long'd to have my arm — a husband's arm, 
About her thrown : he had had a hideous dream : 
And Alda too : outrage and bloodshed, and a bridgeless gulf 
Between us two. Alas ! the blood is shed ; 
And the gulf, what shall span it ! Then his words : 
" Dishonor, ruin, and the Devil in Paradise, 
And two souls blasted by a serpent's guile." 
Why this has come : dishonor and ruin ; and our two- 
fold soul, 

Or his and hers Who play'd the Serpent then ? 

One high in place. I do remember now : 
Ferrar dislik'd Luis' de Lara's visits; 

And she [A noise at the door. He loolis up, and, see- 
ing Alda, at first luith joy : 
Herself! [Then sadly, but still to himself: 
The moon unto my prison, — 



ACT IV. sc. 2. 223 



But in eclipse myself have caus'd. 

Enter Alda. 

Alda ! [aloud^ as she 
approaches. 
Alda. ITo nearer. 

Ruy. No, I meant not. With these hands 

Scorn me not, Alda! 

Alda. Does this look like scorn? 
I hated thee — I thought so — till I came : 
Now I behold thee, even my brother's blood 
Cries out in vain, and thou art Ruy still. 
But no, my brother, who lov'd thee, sent me hither. 
Hear. I was on my knees beside his bier. 
My face was on his breast, and my wrist touch'd 
The cross hilt of his sword, which lay beside him. 
Then, of a sudden, it seem'd I heard his voice. 
Which whisper'd : " Treachery. Ruy will tell all." 
A light shone in me, and made clear my path. 
I rose, as if inspir'd, and as I rose 
One of my maids came in. She had pass'd the crowd, 
Which still bethrongs our door, and heard them say 
Thou wouldst not suffer ; for one was there, maintain'd 
Thou hadst pleaded duty, and he knew thy sword 
Was not drawn willingly. Then I too recall'd 
Thy words, and hasten'd to the King ; thence hither, 
To free thee. 

Ruy. Not to free me. In the law 
Alone, is death or freedom. 

Alda. In the law 



224 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



Is death. The Alcaldes are determin'd. Think 
The people what they may, thy great renown 
Will not redeem thee, save thou shalt speak out 
And prove thy innocence, as I feel thou canst. 

Ruij. My innocence ? Yet I slew him. 

Alda. Not of hate ; 
For he had honor'd, had lov'd thee, past all count. 
In sudden ire ? 

Ruy. Oh no ! 

Alda. For what cause, then ? 

Ruy. Ask not. I have said, a seal is on my lips. 

The power that plac'd it there alone can break it. 

Alda. That power then is above thee. 'T is the King. 
Thou art the victim of thy simple faith 
And o'erstrain'd loyalty. Either of himself, 
Or mov'd to it by some villain's arts, the King 
Drove thee to crime, that thou and poor Ferrar 
Might not be in his way. Art thou still dumb ? 

Ruy. Touch not the King, Alda ! Of himself 

Never Don Sancho {^Stops abruptly. 

Make me not untrue : 
Not even for thee should faith be broken. Enough, 
There was need Ferrar should die. I would have laid 
My life down for him else. 

Alda. Know I not that? 
Had I not known it, think'st thou I were here ? 
Here for the purpose which has brought me hither? 
Listen, unhappy. Oftentimes the King- 
Sought, by high promise, flattery, office, wealth, 



ACT IV. SC. 2. 225 



All which Ferrar disdain'd, to bring him over 
To his own shame and mine. — 

Ruy. That cannot be. 
Our lord has honor for his virtuous spouse, 
The mother of his children.^" 

Alda. As he had 
For his illustrious sire, and Absalom 
Ma}^ err where David stray'd with meaner kings.^^ 

Must I pursue ? Last night Recall the gloom, 

Which scarce an hour now gone 

Ruij. Ay me ! God ! 
That was thy vision ! 

Alda. I had none, nor he. 
Each took that way to symbol to thy thoughts 
What neither durst reveal. 

Ruy. I had divin'd it. 
Even as thou enter'dst. But I deem'd, another 

It was that not he — not our Oh, oh, God I 

Alda. Tears again, Ruy ? on those bold mans-cheeks ? 
I may not kiss them off, as late I thought 
'T would be my right to do for all thy tears. 
Dry them with indignation. Keep'st thou faith 
For such a king ? 

Ruy. For any king. My faith 
Is perfect in itself and self-sustain'd. 
Not chang'd by others' un-faith, nor my word 
Null'd by their undeserving. 

Alda. But thy life ? 
Can it be safe with such ? Thou art free to go ; 
10* 



22o THE CID OF SEVILLE 



Free by my act, not his. 'T is Alda saves thee, 
The sister of thy victim, who through me 
Pardons and pleads with thee to go, for me. 
Ray. 'T were to dishonor. Life were nothing worth, 
My good name gone forever. Here I bide, 
Till I be call'd to acquittal or to death. 
Alda. 'T will be to death. Think'st thou thy lord will save 

thee ? 
Ruy. If it be his will. 

Alda. If it be Who was that other 

Thou saidst thou thought'st of? 

Ruy. Don Luis' Gonza'lez. 
Alda. Luis' Gonza'lez! 'T was well thought. Twice traitor; 

To his king, to his lady. It was he that came 

This day high words pass'd 'twixt Ferrar and him. — 
No, touch me not! [as, in his emotion, Ruy appears ahoui 
to grasp her wrist.] What makes thee turn so pale ? 

Ruy. Why, it was he ! 

Alda. Thou wilt not then speak out ? 
Thou need'st not. Spirit of my dead Ferrar, 
Thou didst well prompt me I Thou shalt be aveng'd 
Of thy true murderer, and before thy gore 
Is fully dried. Wo, Ruy, to us both. 
Who are the living victims, of the three I 
He is least unhappy. Bide here, since thou wilt, 
Mute and devoted : I go to do my duty. [Tarns to the door, 
ivhile Ruy stands motionless ; and the 

Drop falls. 



ACT V. SC. 1. 22V 



Act the Fifth 

Scene. As in Act I. JSc. II. 

The King. De Lara. 

King. This thou hast heard ? 

Luis. It is the common talk. 

King. And the stout knight prefers his prison-wall, 

With Death at the window ? nor betrays by word, 

Or sign, his spring of action ? 'T is my Cidl^° 

He brings the King to himself. Ifg tongue shall speak. 

Lids, [in alarm. 

Beware ! ( Forgive, my lord, my warmth ! ) No good 
Can come of this generous frankness. 'T will be still 
Pardon at most for Ruy, or change from death 
To honorable exile, while the evil 
Of giving life to the Infante's claims. 
Even here, where toil'd my uncle for your sake *' 
To bury them out of sight, and, let me add, 
The shame to my lord of baring to the gaze 
Of popular mistrust his secret act. 

Sure of harsh misconstruction 

King. By St. James ! 
'T was thine own act; and thine will be the fault 



228 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



If 't be miscoustru'd. Bring thy evidence out, 
And show the dogs his treason. 

Luis. Even then, 
My lord would find, to stir the half-quench'd fires 
Of popular discontent, at all times smouldering 
Somewhere beneath their ashes, and to stoop 
The ermine of his pride to violent chafe 
Of vulgar hands, were detriments no thought 
Of generous right to Ortiz could repay. 
King. Thou art a graceless counselor, Luis', 

To warp thy King from good ; and much I doubt 
Thou art pleading from thy fears. 

Enter Usher, 

Varalba, well ? 
UsJi. May it please my lord the King, the two Alcaldes, 
Don Pedro Loriguillo and Don Diego 
Alfonso de Ribilla : Avith whom come 
A brother of St. Francis, and, besides, 
Don Ruy Ortiz, under guard. They are here 
By my lord's summons. 

King. By our summons, ha ! 
We gave none. And for what ? 

Ush. They pray 
For audience. Likewise, hath return'd the lady 
Alda Montoj^a, Avith her maidens. 

King. Give them 
Instant admission all. lExit Ush. 

I could have Avish'd 



ACT V. sc. 1. 229 



For nothing better. Now, this coil of care 
Shall be at once unwound, come good or ill. 

Enter 

The two Alcaldes; E,uy, loithout the guard ; 

and the Franciscan. Then^ Alda, 

loithout her Maidens. 

What have to say our well-esteem' d Alcaldes ? 
Pedr. The King has summon'd us. — 

King. No. But let that pass. 

We are glad that you are come. What would you say ? 
Pedr. 'T is our grave duty to complain, my lord, 

Of slight to our office, and intended wrong 

To the law, whose majesty we represent. 

The Alcayde," reverencing Your Highness' signet. 

Grave Donya Alda entrance to the prison. 

Who thereupon would break Don Ruy's chains. 

This she avow'd. Was it then your royal order ? 
King. Not to release him. Did she do so ? 

Pedr. No, 

The prisoner refus'd to flee. 

King. Behold 

The enforcement of our plea. We have sought of botli 

Forbearance for Don Ruy. Now of both 

We ask for absolute justice. Would a man. 

Conscious of crime deserving death by law. 

Choose to abide the sentence of the law, 

His prison-house set open ? Free him, then. 
Pedr. Aly lord, the act was recent. Justice waits 



230 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



To give a patient hearing. I myself, 
Likewise this holy friar, and many more 
Saw the completion of the deed. 

King. 'T was then 
Without concealment. Murder is not done 
I' the sunlight before witnesses. 

Pedr. The King 
Will suffer me again. The intent to kill, 
Put into action, makes at all times murder, 
Where neither warfare, nor the law-'s behest. 
Nor the King's service sanctions or exacts it. 
In my own hearing, and of the friar here, 
And others, in presence of the newly slain 

And his wrong'd sister 

King. See ! thou mak'st her weep. 
Pedr. The eyes of Justice, blind to outward things 
That would distract her judgment, see no tears. 
Her ears are shut to suffering and the appeal 
Of simple pit3^ — This the prisoner said : 
His victim fought unwilling, and he provok'd him, 
Meaning to slay. 

King. But not without a cause. 
Don Ruy Ortiz is not mad. He stands 
High among men for sense as well as valor. 
What did he plead, then ? 

Pedr. Vaguely, this alone : 
He knew his duty, and did it. 

King, {turning to Buy.] Is this true ? 
Speak, Ruy Ortiz. 



ACT V. SC. 1. 231 



Ruy. I repeat, my lord : 
My duty I did, and I have kept my faith. 

King. Seest thou, Don Pedro ? seest thou, Don Diego ? 
This kilhng had some cause. Behold, 't is Ortiz, 
Foremost of all men in our people's hearts, 
Who know his valor and his love of truth, 
And honor him therefore, as I do. Is 't likely, 
A man of such repute, our Seville Cid, 
Would set upon his friend, his lady's brother, 
And kill him without cause ? Himself hath said, 
He did therein his duty. What means that? 
Don Ruy is known to us our loyalest knight ; 
His duty was to his king ; and, for some cause 
Which duty to his king would keep conceal'd, 
Has for his king, in sudden, secret need, 
Done this bold action. It can not be else. 
Therefore we pray you, honoring you ourselves, 
To find it right to free him for our sake. 

Dieg. The King has done us honor. We aspire 
To show ourselves deserving of that honor, 
Refusing at his request to strangle justice 
And bind the hands of law. If it is his will, 
My lord may free the prisoner ; but, that done^ 
We give to his hands again our lofty function. 
We cannot keep the body, its life once out; 
And this the Sovereign will have taken away. 
Let us inearth the corpse. 

King. 'T is nobly said. 
But has that function fully been discharg'd ? 



232 THE CID OF SEVIT.LE 



Did you bid search the prisoner? 

Dieg. No, my lord. 
The crime has just been done, the guilty doer 
Scarcely committed to abide the law, 
¥or which we were preparing when hurry'd hither. 
King. Then, search him now. But no, the knight we honor 
Should not be so abas'd. Don Ruy Ortiz. 
What bear'st thou Avith thee that regards this crime ? 
Ruy. Only one paper. 

King. Let it be surrendered. 
Ruy. My lord commands. [Bowing over it, he is about to hring 

it to the King.^^ 
King. No, not to me, — the Alcaldes. 
Pedr. A letter from Your Highness. 

King. Read aloud. 
Pedi\ [reading. 

" To punish treason, and for offences given 
Mortal unto our honor, we have chosen 
And hereby order our valiant and true servant, 
The cavalier Don Ruy Ortiz^ to slay. 
By open assault or otherwise, wherever 
He shall be first encounter'd, Don Ferrar 
Montoya, cavalier, and for the same 
Command all judges, officers and servants 
Of justice, in this our faithful town of Seville, 
To have him free and protected. 

I the King." ** 
The law resigns the prisoner. 

Dieg. And acquits. 



ACT V. sc. 1. 233 



King. What ! feel'st thou, Donya Alda, no surprise, 
Nor pain ? 

Alda. My lord, the facts, though not the paper, 
Were known to me before. Will it please the King 
To let me speak ? I sought to free Don Ruy. 
Why not? his was the weapon, not the crime. 
But strong in his pure heart he would not yield, 
Unwilling to ransom even life itself 
At cost of shame. Your Majesty will pardon, 
If, seeing this, and well assur'd the law 
Would have no pity, I avail'd myself 
Of what I now restore, [i'eturning the signet. 

to summon hither 
Don Ruy and the Alcaldes. 

King. We are bounden 
To Donya Alda, — ourself, and all around. 
Alda. I had found a plot against the royal honor 
And my poor brother's life. ( Let Don Luis' 
Remain, my lord. ) 

King. Nor he, nor any here, 
Shall leave till I command. 

Alda. When Don Luis', 
Tmie after time, came to my brother's house. 
To court me in another's suit, his faith 
To him alike and his own betroth'd forgotten. 
He woo'd but for himself 

King, [turning rapidly to Be Lara, 
and half-raising his sheathed sword, ivith his right hand 
on the hilt.] I see the lie 



234 THE CID OF SEVILLE 



Work in the traitor's face. Proceed. 

Alda. This day 
Met 'neath the Alcazar's roof, my brotlier told him 
Sharply his mind. 

King. Yes, yes ! 'Fore God ! 

Alda. A man 
Who had sought me at the house, and trac'd me thence 
To the Castle gate, and waited at the bridge ^^ 
My coming-out, compunction-jnov'd, avow'd 
He had taken a bribe to swear against Ferrar, 
Not knowing 't would touch his life. He waits without. 
There stands his employer. 

lung. I know it. Let the wretch 
Be brought in to confront him. 

Lvis. It needs not. 
Lust and revenge have push'd me to this crime. 

Ktrig. Hear'st thou, Don Ruy ? If thou cutt'st him down, 
It will not anger me, even on this floor. 
I '11 lend my sword to do it. But no, thy looks 
Are sharper, and a brave man's death fits not 
Traitors like that. Ho ! drag him to the block. 

Ruy. My lord ! permit me. Let the miscreant live. 
Will his death fill again the vems he has open'd ? 
Make whole the hearts he has wounded and made twain ? 
Stain to thy name ! look on that vail and mantle : 
There is a deeper mourning in my heart : 
And all of thee, to whom I ne'er did harm. 

King. I render him to your justice, grave Alcaldes. 
This time, the King's ring will not come between. 



ACT Y. SC. 1. 235 

Guards enter, and De Lara iinhuddes his sword. 

Lady, forgive me : I can say no more. 
But pardon him also, who is scarce more guilty 
Than by an accident had he slain Ferrar. 
Let the King see you take him by the hand, 
Or hope one day to do it, 

Alda. Not now, nor ever. 
My lord, my brother's body is scarce cold. 
Let me return to it. When the rites are over, 
I shall withdraw for ever from the world. 
The bride of Christ alone. 

King. And thou, my Cid ? 
Rny. She is right, my lord. The blood-spot on my hand 
Will never off. For that upon my sword. 
Let the Moor cleanse it. 

King. Be it to thy wish. 
Thou shalt to the frontier, to our valiant Captain, 
Perez de Guzman.^" 
Rug. [bowing to retire.] With your Highness' leave. 
Alda ! — Forgive me. 

Alda. God be with thee. Buy. 
Ruy. And thee for ever, Alda. 

Alda. Go in peace. 

Curtain falls. 



NOTES TO THE CID OF SEVILLE. 



1. — p. 187. And let these dainty lualis, etc.] Seville was first 
taken possession of by St. Ferdinand (grandfather of Sancho IV. ) 
less than fifty years before this period. The delicate ornaments 
with which, in the peculiar taste of the Moorish people, the walls 
of the Alcazar were profusely decorated, and of which traces still 
remain, may be supposed to have been intact. See Conca — Descriz. 
Odeporica delta Spagna ( Parma, 1795, in 8^. ) Tom. III. p. 259, sqq. : 
Cuendia — Spanien und die Spanier ( Briissel u. Leipz. 8^. 1849) s. 
335. The Alcazar was built by the Moorish kiug Abdalasis sixty- 
seven years before the occupation of Seville by the Christians. Ar. 
de Varflora — Cotnpend. Hist. Descrip. de Sevilla ( Sev. 1790, in 8°. ) 
p. 77. See ib. p. 78. 

In that excelleiit work. History of t/te Mahommedan Empire in 
^;pam ( Lond. 1816, in 4to. ), one of the four principal characteris- 
tics of Arabian architecture is made to be : " The prodigious quan- 
tity of ornaments either in relief or in creiix, the composition of 
which is extremely varied." 

2. — P. 189. By a traitor'' s stroke Tour royal foresire feU, when 
off his guard.'] Sancho III., under the walls of Zaraora, by the 
hand of Yellido Dolfos. . . " estando descuidado y sin recelo do 



238 NOTES TO 



semejante traycion, Yellido Dolfos le tiro im venable que traia en la 
raano, con que le paso el cuerpo de parte a parte " . . Mariana. 
nist Gen. de Esimna. lib. IX. c. ix, Tom. V'l. ( ed. de Sabau : 
Madrid iu 8°. 1818 ) p. 67. There is a particular applicability iu the 
example to Don Sanclio IV. ; for the murdered king is said to have 
declared, that he owed his fate to his filial disobedience and his 
violation of his oath not to deprive his brothers of their dominions : 
Jul. de Castillo. Hist de los Reyes Godos (Madr. in fol. 1624. ) Lib. 
IT. Disc. II. p. 203. 

It is this treason which forms a main incident in the 2d Part of 
Las Mocedades del Cid, — where we have the siege of Zamora, the 
assassination of Sancho, the triple duel fought before the walls ( v. 
Note 15, infra. ) and of which the Cid is umpire, and finally the 
expurgation by oatli of Alonso, as mentioned on p. 181 above 
( Pref. to C. of S. ) sub note a. 

3, — P. 189. / dropped my sioord, hut told him that he lied, For 
never king luould fitoop to act so base.'] This is borrowed from Sancho 
Ortiz, where the King, in that fine passage I have cited on p. 155 
( Pref. ) Dige quien soy, &a., tells to Arias what here Ferrar relates 
to the King, and what in the Estrella is directly said by Busto to 
the King in their encounter at the former's door. 

4. — P. 189. In the name of King, Though falselyworn — ] Don 
Ferrar, speaking but a generality, and applying it to the event he 
mentions, does not allude to the King's rebellion when Infante, nor 
yet to his actual usurpation of the rights of his brother's son, 
although Don Sancho, conscience-smitten, so interprets liirn. 

In the sentiment itself there may seem to be an imitation of Lope's 
"Que un vasallo esta, &a.," cited on p. 162. But my piece was 
completed and copied before I met with the Estrella. 

6. — P. 191, — as he had thrown already At the Alcazars gate. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 239 



etc.] This incident is from SancJio Ortiz, where it is well related 
by the King to Arias : 

" Del alcazar a la puerta, 
Ya supiste que hoy estaba 
La desventurada esclava 
Con tres puflaladas muerta." 

In La Estrella, as I have shown, the King and Arias find the un- 
fortunate hanging. See, baci<, p. 163. Busto tells his sister that he 
inflicted the punishment himself: 

. . . "camino 
Al alcazar, y en sus rejas 
La colgue por su delito." 

This would have been a difficult act, at the window of any house ; 
but it passes probability as alleged to have occurred at the palace. 
The transaction, as related by Trigueros, is, thougli audacious aud 
dangerour^, yet within the bounds of verisimilitude. 

6. — P. 192. — and moral texts Come handier still to me than 
thee.] Sancho IV. wrote a book of admonition and instruction for 
the use of his son and successor. Some extracts from its chapters 
are gathered, we are told, in Castro's collection, T. IL pp. 725-729. 
See Ticknor's Sp. Lit. I. 55. (Bost. ed. ) note. 

7. — P. 192. When King Rodrigo In the locked toioer beheld the 
arroiv^d Moor And redd the tvarning — ] After Roderic had set 
aside the children of Witiza (v. infy-a, Note 10.) and caused his 
own election as sovereign, he made Toledo his capital. There was 
there, the story runs, a house that had been shut for ages and was 
forbidden to be opened. Whenever a king was crowned the cus- 
todians of the house asked him for a lock, and added it to all the 
others. Roderic refused to give one aud removing those that were 
already there, entered in the hope of finding treasure. But he saw 
within nothing but a single chest also locked, on opening which 



240 NOTES TO 

there appeared the Hkeness of an Arab * equipped for battle, and 
an inscriptiou intimating that when the locks should be removed, 
etc., a figure like that would enter Spain, subdue it and possess it. 
This account, which purports to be after the Arabian historians, ia 
given in the Hhtor]j of the Mahom. Empire in Spain already cited, 
p. 55 sq. 

The fable, which is probably of Arabic invention, is found with 
much amphfication of imaghiative detail in Julian del Castillo, Hiat.^ 
&a. as above. Lib. VI. Disc. xi. p. 113. After describing the site, 
and so forth, of the enchanted tower, about a mile from Toledo, he 
proceeds thus in very good style : 

. . "y abaxo en una muj- linda quadra della estava una estatua de bronco de 
grande fiereza y estatura, con una maza de annas en las inanos, con la qual hcria 
al suelo cruelmente, dando en el muy grandes golpes, y moviendo el ayre causava 
grandissimo esti-uendo." — The king enters ; and, in the middle of the night 
afterward ( which by the by is anticipatory, and out of the order of the Arabic 
original) were heard "grandes vozes y alaridos, que parecia genero de batalla : y 
estremeciendose toda aquella tierra, con un bravo estruendo se hundio todo el 
edificio de la torre.'' — The tower had many locks ; for it was common fame thai 
the king who sJioiild open it would ruin Spain : wherefore, instead of opening it, 
each .successive monarch added a lock. But Roderic, etc. . . " y en medio della 
un hermoso pilar, y una area arrimada a el, y en el pilar unas letras Crriegas, por 
donde se entiende ser el encatamento de Hercules el Griego Alcides Thebano, y 
dezian las letras bueltas en nuestra lingua : Quien esta area abriese, maravillas 
hallara." Roderic opens the ciiest . . "y halld dentra della un lienzo cogido 
entre dos tablas, y descogiole, y parecieron en el pintadas muchas figuras de 
hombres a cavallo, de vista y semblantes fieros, espantables, vestidos do muchas 
colores, y todos a la manera que andan los Alarabes, con espadas y ballestas en las 
manos, y vanderas y pendones alzados de diversas invenciones y pinturas, y 
encima de las pinturas avia otras letras Griegas, que bueltas en lengua Castellana 
dexian : Quien este lieiizo efttendiere, perdera las Espanas, y ganarlaa han talcs 
geiites coma en el estan iniitculusy They shut up the tower, when behold, in 
sight of the King and all who were with him, an eagle descended with a brand of 

* The Arabian historians tell us that the army of Tarik was " almost wholly 
composed of Barbars [any other people than mere Arabians, and particularly 
those of Barbary,] but very few Arabs being among them." Hist. Mnhomm. 
Emp. in Sp. as above, p. 59, note. This also is the popular notion ; and conse- 
quently, I have used in the text "arrowed Moor^\ as more directly intelligible 
than "piotur'd chief " or "Arab chief ", which were among the readiiigs. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 241 



lii'O in his beak and placed it at the foot of the tower, "yaleando fiiortamente 
con siis alas la encendio eu vivas Hamas, y so quemo al pnnto, sin quedar seflal 
della mas de las cenizas : y luego se levanto uu gran vicnto que las llevd por 
muchas partes de Espafla, y donde caian se convertian en sangre." pp. 113. 114. 

The ^vriter goes on to tell us, with admirable simplicity, that the 
prediction would seem a fable, if it was not known tbat, besides 
Hercules, many persojis and some saints had prognosticated the sa'tue, 
and that Merlin also foretold that Spain ivould be destroyed by the 
Arabians ; and the Venerable Bede likewise said if, arid St. Isidore 
and others, p. 115. He does not decide himself, /or though the stars, 
planets, etc. etc. 

There is another detailed account of the wonders of the enchanted 
palace of Ilercides in Lozano : Jieyes Moros de Toledo ( Madr. 4to. 
1674) J). 9, sqq. But I have only glanced over it. — Mariana tells 
the story, but more briefly, and without so much of marvel in the 
detail: Hist. (7ew. ed. c. IV. p. 827. — The same narrative, mainly, 
as that of Castillo, with even in part the very language he uses, 
will be found in a translation of the Arabian historian Abulcacim 
Tarifhy AI. de Luna, under the title: Hist. Verdadera del Bey Don 
Rodrigo (Madr. sm. 4to. 1676.) c. VI. p. 24. But the opening of 
the enchcmted wioer is made to have taken place after Eoderic heard 
the news of the disembarkation of Tarik and Count Julian, in his 
hope to find therein treasure to support the coming conflict. The 
romantic conclusion of the eagle, which fanned into flame the en- 
kindled tower, and of the great wind that arose immediately after 
the tower was destroyed and carried to many parts of Spain the 
ashes, v/hich as they fell were turned to blood, is not there. It 
may have been, for aught I know, the invention of Archbishop 
Eodrigo, and is a good one whoever was the author. 

8. — P. L93. The emerald had been broken all the same.] The story 
of Florinda, surnamed Za Cava, discredited ( I think on insufficient 
grounds ) by the editor of Mariana, and by others, is one of the 
Voi. ir.— 11 



242 NOTES TO 



most familiar in history. According to the account in Bleda 
( Cronica de los Mows en Espana — 1618, in fol. — p. 127, ) the girl 
informed her father of her misfortune figuratively by an emerald 
ring, which, she said, as it lay uncared for, the king's sword ( tuck — 
" estoque " ) split in two, dividing the green stone. 

"La Rejiia . . . criava en su casa por sus damas . . . las hijas de los princi- 
pales del rej-no. Era muy herruosa entre ellas una hija del Conde llamada 
Florinda, y por mal noml.)re la llamaron la Cava. — ... Oometio el Rcy el adiU- 
terio, segun Vasco, en Pancorvo \'illa cerca de Cambria, en la provincia que agora 
llaman Bureba entre las ciudades de Burgos y Victoria. — . . Florinda . . de- 
termino de escrivir a su padre una carta, en la qual por circumloquios le dio a 
entender la desgracia que le avia acontecido con el Eey ; la qual carta dize assi. 
' El gran deseo que me causa la ausencia de padre tan querido ( y con i-azon ) por 
carecer de su \'ista, junto con mi soledad, me haze escri%ar tan larga y enfadosa 
carta : y avisando de una nueva, karto nueva para mi, aunque vieja en Espana, 
entre muchas que ay dignas do memoria en este Palacio, sola esta contare por 
mas notable, ni jamas acontecida a E,ey : y es que teniendo yo esta sortija, que 
va dentro desta carta, con esta engastada esmeralda, sobre ima mesa suelta y 
descuydada ( joya de mi, y de los mios tan estimada, como es razon ) cayo sobre 
ella el estoque Real, y desgraciadamente la hizo dos pedazos, partiendo por medio 
la verde piedra, sin ser yo parte de remedialla.' " 

Mariana, who gives no other name throughout than Cava, makes 

the king to have become enamored in somewhat of the same fashion 

as David of Bathshebah. He makes the letter to Count Julian tell 

without concealment, though \^ath sufficient delicacy, the outrage 

done her. Hist. Gen. de Esp. (Sabau) T. iv. pp. 314, 315. A note 

in this edition says : 

" Todo lo que Mariana refiere en esto capitulo debe reputarse por fabula pues 
las Cronicones de Isidore, de Dulcidio, el Emilianense y el del Rey D. Alonso, que 
son los mas antiguos, no bablan una palabra ni de la Cava ni del Conde D. 
Julian." 

Setting aside the fable of the '• palacio cncantado " after " Arzo- 
bispo D, Rodrigo," which is probably, as I have said, an Arabic 
invention, expanded and decorated or developed by the fancy of 
various Spanish writers, this want in the Chronicles does not seem 
to me sufficient to condemn the whole story of Don Roderic and 
Count Julian's daughter. Indeed, by a parity of reasoning, if we 



THE CTD OF SEVILLE 243 



are bound to reject as fabulous all that the chroniclers do not give 
us, are we to accept as veritable all that they do ? I have no doubt 
that there was some such affair, although whether the damsel was 
dishonored against her will as weh as in violation of the king's im- 
plied trust, or yielded without resistance, is a point that will admit 
of a twofold conjecture. It is to be hoped, if only for the romance 
of the story, that the more charitable supposition is the truer. As 
for the letter, it must be equally a fiction in Mariana and in Bleda ; 
and the figure of the broken jewel is more agreeable, if not more 
probable, and, allowing that concealment would be prudent as well 
as decorous, is in better keeping with the rest of the narration.* 

It must be acknowledged, however, that modern historians are 
in general incredulous of the story as a whole, or of that part of it 
which is connected witli Florinda. Conde, ascribing the invasion 
of the Arabs wholly to the dissatisfaction of the people, rejects the 
name of Julian entirely, and says : " Los nombres de la Caba, do su 
doncella AHfa, y toda la serie de este cuento descubre que fue ficcion 
morisca, fundada en las hablillas y canciones vulgares que corrian 
entre Moros y Cristianos." Hist de la Dominacion de los Arabes en 
Esp. Tom. I. ( Madr. 8°. 1820 ) c. viii. p. 25, note. But from what 
did these idle tales and popidar songs arise ? Like the ballads and 
romances of the Cid, they had a foundation. It seems to me, that 
the mere dissatisfaction of the Christians with Roderic \ih.'] could 
not of itself lead to such a treachery ; nor do I find it alone in the 
disappointed ambition of the sons of Witiza and the jealousy of the 
chieftains. There needed to be some concentration such as was 
afforded by the single yet terrible outrage done to Count Julian ; or 
let it have been merely insulted jealousy, not even the dishonoring 
of a wife, as some would have it, but the abstraction or appropria- 
tion of a mistress ; some personal and violent offence, I say, is 

* The letter, as Bleda gives it, will be found almost word for word in the trana- 
kition, before-named, of Abulcacim, CaiJ. IV. i). 16. 



244 NOTES TO 



needed beside the dissatisfaction or the ambition which Don Juhan 
had in common with others, to account for his putting himself at 
the head of that fatal movement. But his name is omitted alto- 
gether,* and one reads with surprise of a body of men, rather than 
an individual, so despicably base, so irreflective, as to invite a 
foreign people, of a faith hostile to their own, to take possession 
of their kingdom. 

M. Morey, in his able Hist. (VEspagne ( Paris, 8°. 1839, ) Tom. III. 
p. 29, note^ says well, that the silence of contemporary chronicles as 
to Julian does not decide anything against the testimony of a great 
number of Arabic authors who all speak of Julian. He might 
have asked, how comes it that the Arabians themselves ascrilje the 
movement to revenge ? It had been more to their credit, to have 
given no other ground for the invasion than their own spirit of 
valiant enterprise and the glory of carrying into new and nobler 
realms the standard of their prophet, — tliat prophet who himself 
enjoined the propagation of his faith at the edge of the sabre. 

As for Julian, the French historian says ( ih. p. 30, ) he ivas of the 
family of the sons of Witiza, and that explains all. " 11 ne fit que ce 
que firent les fils de Witiza et leur oncle Oppas, metropolitain de 
Seville. Pour relever leur famille, ils appelerent les Sarrasins en 

* Dozy ( Ilecherckes sur rJIist. et la Litt. de VEap. pendant le Moyen Age, 2d 
ed. — Leyde 8". 1860 ) in an ingenious section ( V. — Tom. I. p. 64, sqq. ) exam- 
ines this question of Coicnt Julian., and finds him named in Isidore as Urhanus, 
which he considers an error of transcription for JuUanus, and, turning the ex- 
ortus ( because of bad Latinity in the grammatical construction ) into E.varcluis, 
remarks : " nan's voyons qu'un auteur beaucoup phis ancien que les chroniqueiirs 
arabes parle deja de Julien, ce qui met hors de doute 1" existence de ce personnage, 
et nous arrivons en outre a ce resultat, que Julien n"etait pas vassal ou sujet du 
roi Visigoth, comme on fa cru, mais gouvemeur, pour Tempereur de Constanti- 
nople, de ce petit coin de I'Afrique que les Ai-abes n'avaient pas encore arrach6 
aux faibles successeurs de Constantin-le-grand, c'est-a-dire de Ceuta et des lieux 
circumvoisins." 

On the treason of the sons of Witiza, v. ibi § VI. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 245 



qualite cl'ausiliaires, et clemeurereDt enveloppes dans la defaite 
commune " 

I have not the least doubt myself, that the Arabians had long 
looked upon the Mediterranean coast of Spain with an eye to con- 
quest,* and that the discontent of the Gothic chieftains, the dis- 
satisfaction of the people, thence arising and fanned by them, and 
more than all the defeated ambition of the family of Witiza, includ- 
ing its connections, among whom was Count Julian, vrere the indi- 
rect causes of the invasion : they suggested it and rendered it 
feasible. But the treasonous co-operation of the Christians, — if 
we reject the actual incitation ascribed to them by historians, who 
make them, self-exiled on the Moorish shores, paint to the Mussul- 
mans the riches of their native land and the ease with which it 
might be conquered, — a treason so pecuharly repugnant under the 
circumstances, so shortsighted as to be almost if not absolutely 
blind to the plainest of the results which must inevitably follow, 
how are we to explain this except by that which has often been the 
spur to treason everywhere and is so still, the passion namelj'' of 
revenge, whether for insult, slight, or injury ? And whence came 
the woman ? The name Cava is shown by Lembke {uhi infra) to 
be clearly an Arabic word signifying meretrix. She may have been, 
as I have just suggested, a mistress of Julian's, and at all events 
was looked upon by the Arabians with contempt. It does not 
follow that because that tale of the bringing-up at the court 
of Roderic may be, or is, pure invention, the story in all its 
parts is absolutely without a basis. — The acute liistorian last 
mentioned, while admitting as an inciting cause personal hostility 
on the part of Julian, argues as a matter of chronology the unlikeli- 

* In subuote p. 249, it will be seen that seventeen years before the battle of 
Xeres and the fall of Roderic, there was apprehension in Spain of an invasion 
from the neighboring coast of Africa. In fact, this was inevitable, considering 
the position of the two countries, and the power and warlike character of the 
Saracen mouarchs. 



246 NOTES TO 

hood of such a crime (that is, in the manner recorded) as is as- 
cribed to Roderic : — 

" Donn wenn Tloderich erst im Jahre 711 den Thron bestieg, wie war es dann 
moglicli, dass Julian in demselben Jalire nach Toletiim ging, wieder znruckkana, 
sich mit dem Musa in Verbindung setzte, dass Letzerer an den Walid schrieb, 
dieser demselben antwortete, und dass dann endlich, wie nicht zu bezweifeln, die 
Eroberung noch in dasselbe Jahr fiel ? Die Feindschaft zwischen Roderich und 
Julian scheint also einen fi-iiheren Urspmng gebalt zu haben und muss noch in 
die Zeit Witizas falten,' gegen welchen Roderich vermutlich sich emporte." 
Geschichte v. Spanien ( Hamb. S". 1831. ) Ir. Band. Ss. 257, 8. Anm. 

This, it will be seen, is no argument against the probability of the 
wrong itself to Julian ( of whatever nature that might have been ), 
but of its occurrence in the same year with the successful invasion 
by the Mohammedans.* 

I think it not improbable that the day will come when even Don 
Roderic will be lightened of much of the abuse that through many 
centuries has been laid upon him, heap after heap, but always of 
one material. It appears likely to rae that whereas the people were 
happy under ihe lax and beneficent rule of Witiza ( see sequel to 

* Ordinary historians do not make the conquest to have occurred till 713, or 
even 714 ; and we find with some that the outrage is imputed to Witiza. ilariana 
himself puts the battle in which Roderic was routed in the y. 714. The note by 
Sabau (IV. p. 325) corrects him thus: "El Marques de Mondexar prueba con 
argumentos no despreciables, qiie la famosa batalla en que fue derrotado D. 
Rodi-igo se dia el dia 3 de Octubre del alio 711.'' The Arabic historians fix the 
year also as 711 of our era, but they make the precise period two months earlier. 
V. Mohamm. Em2}. p. 61. The date of the imputed letter of Florinda is thus 
given in the Eiistoria Verdadera after Abulcacim : " de Toledo a tres de Diziem- 
bre de la era de Cesar de setecientos y cmquanta aflos : " in the margin, " En- 
tiendese este data 38 anos antes del nacimento de N. S." ; which would make it 
therefore 712. 

However, for the propriety of the allusion in the play, it is enough to remind 
the reader, that the story of Julian comes down especially from the Chronicle of 
Sakcho's own father, AloJiso el Sdbio. " Debio de ser esta ofesa la de los amores 
del Rey D. Rodrigo con la Caba, hija del Conde D. Julian, como se refiere en la 
cronica general que mando escrlbir el Rey D. Alfonso el Sabio.*' Conde : p. d- n. 
svprn cit. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 247 

next note ), they found in his successor, obliged to defend himself 
against the jealousy and insubordination of his rivals and to crush 
intrigues among his people, a sterner and less generous master. 
Hence the occasion furnished Bishop Oppas and his coadjutors of 
maligning him ; and if, besides, he made himself the object of per- 
sonal hatred and revenge to one of the dethroned monarch's con- 
nections,* it is not to be wondered at that one act of imprudent, or 
say criminal, passion should come down to us multiplied into a 
thousand indulgences of bestial sensuality. History abounds in 
misrepresentations, and is sometimes nothing else where princes 
are concerned ; but, of all, the most unscrupulous and inveterate 
are those invented and repeated by a bigoted or vindictive priest- 
hood. 

9. — P. 193. The royal Goth vjas markhl Inj many traits That fit 
a wonarch — ] Had he not been, he never would have obtained 
supremacy, or found acquiescence and submission among his peers 
as well as the people. Castillo {ubi s. c. p. 112) says, that imme- 
diately after he had procured his election he seemed to lay aside 
these eminent qualities, as if no longer of use, and abandoned him- 
self to what must have been his natural passions. Mariana gives 
the same account, for and against, Mb. VI. c. 20 (Tom. iv. p. 312 
ed. c. ). From any historian it is improbable. Men do not put off 
good habits, or assume them, so easily. See concluding paragraph 
of Note 8. 

* Count Julian was married to Witiza's sister. ( Jfar. iv. 307. ) Between 
Piodrigo and tlie sons of Witiza the rivality was in this wise. Ervigio, who, by 
what might be called a romantic act of treason, had superseded Wamba, endeavored 
to give a kind of legitimacy to his usurpation and to make through a quasi- 
political atonement the crime which preceded it overlooked, by marrying his 
daughter to Egica, a chief of Wamba's family. Witiza was the offspring of this 
marriage. Rodrigo was of the rival race of Chindasuinth, bemg son of the sec- 
ond son of that prince, as from Favila, another of the sons, came the famous 
Tclayo. 



248 NOTES TO 

The fact of Roderic's having by a sort of usurpation, as com 
monly assumed, become king to the exckision of the sons of Witiza * 

* Witiza himself is described by Bieda ( u. s. p. IIS ) as abominable in all 
sensual pleasures, especially witli women, and the padre makes the conruptiou 
thence arising, first in the court, and then spreadiiig to the clergy, to whom 
Witiza, in revenge of the interference of his prelates and to neutra,Uze their influ- 
ence, gave permission to have as many M-ives and concubines as they pleased, to 
have been the first among the causes to which he ascribes the ruin of Spain. He 
makes Archbishop Oppas ( Bishoji : there were no Archbishops ui Spain at tliat 
time, ) Iving Witiza's brother, an accomplice in the treachery of Coimt Julian. 
(This, which is acknowledged by better Wstorians, and is from aU the circinn- 
stances one of the most probable of facts, furnishes a clue to the chief motives of 
the perpetrators of that act of consummate folly as weU as turpitude. ) 

Salazar ( Monarquia tie Esp. lib. I. c. xii. — Tom. 1. p. 80. Madr. f ol. 1770) re- 
peats this story, and recounts that Witiza ordered imder capital penalty that no 
obecUence should be rendered by the clergy to the Pope of Borne, that the Jeim 
should return to the kingdom, and that the walls of certain cities and towns 
should be demolished. 

According to Ferreras {Hist. Gen. d'E^p. P. IV. Siecle VIII. — T. II. p. 415, 
sqq. Trad. d^Hermilly. Paris et Amst. 4to, 1751 ) Witiza was a perfect monster 
of libeitinism, — a beast rather in eveiy carnal excess. The story, of the demo- 
lition of the walls with three exceptions, he disproves, but credits and relates 
with emphasis the sanction to the clergy of concubinage. He rejects the story 
of his throwing off pontifical authority. He maintains the tradition of Count 
Julian, argues why it should be true, and concludes by asking if it is credible 
that Don Julian, who had defended Ceuta against Muza, would have solicited the 
aid of the Moors except from powerful motives. The sum of which is this. 
Ferreras assumes, with the early ecclesiastical writers of Spanish history, that the 
corruption of Witiza, whom he calls tyrant as well as monster, paved the way for 
the ruin of Spain, and through the dissatisfaction of the people caused the first 
invasion of the Moors, which however he considers to have been inspii-ed by am- 
bition and lust of conquest. 

It is to be obser^•ed that these unfavorable accoimts of the Gothic king are 
primarily the composition of churchmen. If now we look at the main charges 
against him, we are startled instantly by strong suspicions, ( a ) which, not easily 

(a ) These suspicions, which flashed upon my own mind even while reading the two allegations T hare 
particularized, I have the satisfaction to Sad conl'imied by the arguments, or rather the critical examina- 
tion and comparison of F. W. Lembke ( «. s.] pp. 118 124. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 249 



gives point to the example ; and Don Sanclio, seeming to have felt 
ifc, says below : 

Or dar'st thou make my paragon of him, 
Because like me he vaulted to a throne 
Whereon the natural claimants could not sit ? 

See Note 10. 

entex-tained by earlier writers, become in our more liberal and enlightened and 
wisely distnistf ul times one of the commonest suggestions caused by all such 
wholesale and vehement denunciations, especially on the part of ecclesiastics. 
Of the four public acts wliich are charged against Witiza, one, which would be 
that of a madman, is disposed of by Ferreras as unworthy of consideration, and is 
probably founded on a politic dismantling of some outworks either useless or likely to 
fall into the hands of an invader and thus to become a source of danger to the towns 
themselves. The accusation of licensing and enjoining marriage and even concu- 
binage to the clergy is as little tenable ; for we know that marriage was at that 
time not forbidden to ecclesiastics, and we may see therefore how the concubinage, 
which at a later day, when restive under the lumatural restraint newly put upon 
them by the Pope, they indulged in, to the scandal of religion and the demoral- 
ization of the laics, became easily mixed i^p \\dth a charge which in itself could 
have no foimdation. But we are told that this " tjTant " wished to have the Jews 
return to his dominions. His father Egica, probably prompted by the bishops, 
had had the cruel unpolicy to propose in the last Council of Toledo ( y. 694 ) the 
most tyraimical measures with a view to the extirpation of the Jews from every 
part of the kingdom, on the absurd charge, to which he testified in a memorial 
presented hy him to the Council ( easily concocted by the prelates who were to 
act upon it ) that they had agreed rolth their brethren of Africa to revolt and 
deliver xip Sjjain to the Moors ! Unhappy people ! that for their o\\'n bigotry 
and narrowminded adherence to antiquated uses have been, through all ages and 
in every country, the victims of religious intolerance or unreflecting prejudice. 
Thi<< proposed the King : The Prelates will resolve that all the Jeins suri'ender 
themselves for slaves, aiul in order that loith poverty they r)xay he mm-e sensible of 
toil, that all their goods be confiscated : in addition to which, tliat their children 
be taken from them so soon as arrived at the age of seve7i years a?ul delivered to 
Christians to be reared and instructed. Mariana. IV. 201, sq. After tliis ac- 
cursed proposition, followed by the Act passed by the Council: " Que los Judios 
que despues de bautizados perseveran en su religion, 6 conspiran contra el Rey 6 
contra el estado, scan reducidos a la csclavitud y sus hienes confiscados, y que les 
quiten sus hijos para educarlos on la i-eligion cristiana : " ( Aguirre, Actus de eala 

11* 



250 NOTES TO 



10. — p. 193. — the natural claimants — ] I do not therefore 
mean to say, that they were the legal and absolute ones. In those 
days the monarchy was elective, and the sous of Witiza could have 
no other claun than a natural one, the claim arising from their eligi- 
bility, if such it should be conceded, as sons of the deceased mon- 
arch: " porque en aquellos tiempos no eran Reyes proprietarios, ni 
herederos, sino que el Reyno elegia su Rey libremente en murieudo 
el que Reyuava." Sandoval, u. s. fol. 40. 

Nevertheless, as the sovereignty had been in their family for 
several generations, the sons of Witiza would naturally, and had 
probably come to look upon it as their prescriptive riglit. And 
indeed, but for such a result, there could have been no rivalry bc- 

Conc. ibi in annot. cit. ) — after these abominable measures, can any one 
doubt that Witiza was prompted by intelligence and by indignant justice to 
undo what was at once the foulest tiTanny and the most despicable foUy? 
But along with this impious expression of an infidel liberality, he had the 
hardihood to set his kingly face against the supremacy of the self-styled 
successors of a Hebrew fisherman. To this latter point Sandoval alludes in a 
way that makes it credible, saying that Witiza refused to recognize Spui7i to 
he a hingclom of the Church, and to obey the Pope of Rome : ( xi. s. fol. 40. ) We 
accept them both. Was not then this unfortmiate Gothic king in advance of his 
benighted age ? Do we not find here, in these combmed and kindred allegations, 
one of the main causes of his defamation by the Eomish clergy ? Wbat in our 
o\\Ti day, siipposing we had nothing but two such facts to guide us, should we 
pronounce of such a monarch ? and at such an epoch ? Undoiibtedly, that he 
was a ixue patriot, a bold assertor of his own and the right of his people to na- 
tional independence, a man who was not fettered by naiTOw prejudices, but, doing 
justic-e to all men, set nothing by creeds and found in no variance of religious 
customs a cause for exclusion from equality of political rights, or else, with a 
statesman's view, saw the impolicy of expatriating or disfranchismg an indus- 
trious and wealth-producing, if not wealthy class of his subjects. All men who 
are before their time are crucified by public opinion during life, sometimes for 
long ages after it. and the seed of truth, when, after it has lain so long buried in 
the rot of their obloquy, it germinates at last, throws out so small a shoot and of 
so slow and feeble growth, that few even of those who seek it find its verdure, and 
the mass behold it not at all, unconscious of nor caring for its existence. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 251 



tween two races, each of which had furnished monarclis to tho 
Gothic throne. See, above, p. 247, siibuote to Note 8. 

11. — P. 193. — tlie mighty river — ] Tlie Guadalquivir; which 
name is said to have that sense, being- scarcely altered from the 
designation originally given it by the Moors : Kiuad al iceber ( Rio 
Grande. ) — Mendcz Silva : Poblacion General de Esj). (Madr. fol. 
1645 ) p. 85, Pedro de Medina: Libro de Grandezas &a. y cos. mem. 
de Esp. ( Madr. fol. 156S ) fol. xlviii. 

12. — P. 194. For scarce so much, my brother lost his head.] This 
was one of those acts of violence that were characteristic of the 
age, and one that especially disgraced Alonso el Sabio as well as 
Sancho el Bravo, and was by its consequences the cause of great 
trouble to both. At the same time that the Infante D Fadrique 
was beheaded ( some say suffocated, others again, burned in his own 
house ), D. Simon de Haro was burned to death by order of Don 
Sancho, and both without being heard in their defence. It was 
after the Cortes, assembled at Segovia in 12*76, by Alonso, had de- 
cided, and mainly under the influence of D. Lope de Haro, a rela- 
tive of D. Simon's, in favor of Don Sancho for the succession, 
setting thus aside the sons of his deceased elder brother. The 
queen Dona Yiolante, dissatisfied with this wrong done to her 
grandchildren, and fearing for her own safety as well as theirs, 
managed to get with them under the protection of the King of 
Aragon, her brother. Alonso, greatly enraged, vented his despite on 
all who had aided her, and seized at Burgos the Infante D. Fadrique 
and D. Simon Kuyz de Haro, with the results just mentioned. See 
Mariana: ed. cif. VIII. pp. 162, 163, with note. 

13, — P. 194. He favors the pretenders to your thro7ie, &c.\ These 
were the King's nephews, mentioned in the preceding note, Sanclio. 



252 NOTES TO 



leaving by his rebellion, alienated the favor of Alonso, that unhappy 
monarch, correcting his injustice just before his death (1284), named 
in liis will the eldest of his grandsons as his successor and after 
him the second. These, the Infantes de la Cerda, as they are known 
in history, were nnder the protection, as already said, of the King 
of Arag-on, and all the artifices of Sancho to get them into his pos- 
session, and all his advantages in valor, prudence, and experience 
as a ruler, and the resources which actual sovereignty put at ids 
command, could not prevent them, with the support of that king 
and occasionally with the favor of France, from giving him trouble 
more or less throughout his reign. For they were the focus where 
met all the latent fires of revolution, and at the date I liave chosen 
for ray play, which was just a year before the death of Sancho, 
intrigues in their behalf were, if not as active as they had been, yet 
by no means quiescent. In fact, h^ancho lY., through the whole of 
his reign of eleven years, was either struggling, more or less ear- 
nestly, with the many-handed demon evoked by his misdeed, or tor- 
mented by its phantom. He labored not merely for himself, but for 
his succession, determined to shut out forever his brother's heirs, 
against whom he seemed to have conceived that antipathy which is 
not uncommon with men against the victims of their wi'ongdoing. 
Hence when crowned in Toledo ( 1284, ) he caused the oath of alle- 
giance to be taken to his daughter, a child of two years, providing 
thus anxiously against the two contingencies, of his own premature 
death and of his never having male issue. Nov, with all his real abil- 
ity, were his fears, any more than those of other usurpers, without 
foundation. Mariana indeed considers, tliat but for mismanagement, 
a want of promptitude and zeal, tlie Cerdas might even so late as 
1290 have regained their rights. But their forces were weakened 
by delay, which not only chilled their ardor and added animation to 
the King's, but tended materially to increase these latter, while it 
gave him time to gain over powerful adherents and to strengthen 
himself by alliances: Tom. VIII. 'p. 2Vr.. Which is but to say, that 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 25 o 



the two forces were pretty nearly balanced, but that Don Sancho 
was the better soldier and more capable statesman. 

14. — P. 195. Laics iaJ:e WhcU course the King directs. So said, 
etc.] " Alia van leyes ado quieren reyes " ( Laws go still ivJiither 
kings vjill ) : a proverb which is said to have had its origin in the 
reign of Alonso YI. of Leon and Castile, in this manner. The whole 
body of the people of Toledo, including not only the military but 
even the clergy, were strongly attached to the ancient Gothic forms 
of their faith. The King, under the influence of his spouse, a 
Frenchwoman, daughter of Robert of Burgundy, was determined 
on introducing the Romish ritual. It was agreed to have the ques- 
tion decided by judicial combat. The champion of the Gothic ritual 
came off, to the great delight of the Toledans, victorious. There- 
upon the King declared that the trial was not conclusive, and 
ordered the books containing the two forms to be thrown into a 
large fire. Of course, the decision of Heaven was solemnly in- 
voked ; yet, when the Roman book was burned, while the Toledan 
leaped fortii uninjured ( " illaesus prosiliit"), the King, despite the 
tears and supplications of his people, ordered that the Romish forms 
should be everywhere adopted, threatening the disobedient with 
death and confiscation. Ixoss. cle Si. Eilaire^ after Roderic of To- 
ledo : Hist. cVEsx)0/jne (Paris 8°. 1839 ) IV. p. 251, sqq. Archbishop 
Roderic was of the same mode of thinking with his flock. The 
2iadre Bleda, while relating the duel on the same authority, is silent 
as to the fire-ordeal. It is Mr. Ticknor, III. p. 201 ( Bost. ) note, — 
who gives, after Sarmiento, the particular of the King's action, 
mentioned in the text. It is a good trait in an interesting story. 
It is not impossible that Alonso, finding that the Gotliic ritual did 
not burn so fast as its rival, caused it to be pushed farther into the 
flames, or pushed it himself, that, the results being equalized, he 
might have the casting-vote himself But when one reads of such 
an act of sudden tyranny as the roj^al ordinance, one is tempted to 



254 NOTES TO 



doubt the Archbishop's assertion of the unanimity of the Toledau 
people. It would have required an astonishing amount of moral 
courage and no little physical audacity to face such a universal out- 
break of distressful feehng and outcry of supplication as the mon- 
arch is said to have defied and disregarded. 

Mariana, however, attributes no such unworthy or impolitic con- 
duct to Alouso ; and apparently with reason. He says, the King 
prouounced that loth the hixviaries were pleasing to the Almiglity ; and 
the contest ivas decided by an arrangement that the ancient fonns 
should still exist in the ancient Mozarahic churches : a comjjromise even 
noio observed in certain annual festivals, when in those temjiles tlie 
offices are performed after the vianner of the Mozardbians. He adds 
the remarkable statement, that there is a chapel in the principal 
church, where, by an endowment of the Cardinal Ximenes {in order 
that the memory of so signal an affair and of rites so ancient might not 
be lost, ) certain Mozarabic chaplains pray and say mass conformably 
to the ancient missed and breviary. In the recently erected churches of 
Toledo, it was ordered that the offices slioidd be celebrated in accordance 
luith the Roman forms. " De aqui nacio en Espana aquel refran muy 
usado: Alia van leyes do quieren Reyes." Hist. &a. lib. 9°. c. xviii. 
(T. YI. 124-7. ) The occurrence took place in the y. 1088. 

15. — P. 195. — loho challenghl and o^ertJireiv, etc.] Don Diego 
Ordonez. This incident forms a chief, if not the chief part, and cer- 
tainly the most interesting, of the sequel or second division of Las 
Mocedades del Cid. The Cid is the umpire in the triple duel, and 
decides it in favor of Arias G-onzalo, whose last son, though he 
falls, had by a prodigious stroke in true paladin-fashion split the 
head as well as divided the reins and saddlebow of Diego's steed, 
which, instead of dropping dead, carries his rider beyoud the 
barriers. 

" Vrr. . . . De im tajo 

Le partio cle arriba abaio 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 255 

Cabeza, riendas y arzon 

Al caballo de don Diego. 

Huj'endo a los \dentos sigue, 

Y Rodrigo le persigi;e 

Saiigriente, turbido y ciego. 
I^u. De la estacada ha salido. 
Garc. El caballo le sac6. 
Nil. Y Rodrigo Ai-ias cayo 

Del suyo.'"— Jorti. III. JSsc. 2. 

The comment on p. 68, Tom. YI. of Mariana ( ed. cit. ) shows that 
the story of the challenge and D. Diego's combat with the three 
sons of Arias is not founded on any real account, and adds from 
Ferreras : " Los retos que hubo despues de don Diego Ordonez y 
los hijos de Arias Gonzalo los dexo a la creduhdad del lector, pare- 
ciendome cuentos de libros de caballeria." "Why so ? If not true, 
the tale is well invented. It was the age of the Cid ( " El Campea- 
dor" — the Defier), and very soon after che threefold duel, occurred 
the judicial combat mentioned in the last note, not to establish the 
guilt or innocence of parties charged with complicity in treason and 
king-murder, but to decide between two rival forms of church wor- 
ship. Ferreras swallows with greediness the absurd impossibility 
of Witiza's sanction of clerical concubinage, yet turns with repug- 
nance from a fact so natural and characteristic both of the age and 
of the nation. 

1 6.— P. 195. — H toas thy i^rompt arm That lopp\l the audacious 
Hard's at the vjrist — ] Saucho had repaid his obhgations to D. 
Lope Diaz de Haro, lord of Biscay, by loading him with honors and 
possessions to a degree that swelled his natural arrogance and ex- 
cited the dissatisfaction of other nobles, especially those of Galicia 
and Leon, who said that De Haro was the actual ruler, while Sancho 
wore the crown. Among other causes that increased the vanity 
and presumption of the favorite, he had succeeded in espousing his 
daughter Mary to the Infante Don Juan, the King's brother. After 
various acts of ino-ratitude and insolence toward his benefactor; 



256 NOTES TO 



when he was finally sent to mediate with the King of Aragou, whom 
Sancho was soliciting to deliver up the Cerdasi, Don Lope purposely 
embroiled everything. Sancho returned to Alfaro, on the confines 
of Aragon and Navarre. Here the Infante D. Juan and Do Haro 
came to do him reverence, without sufiBcient guard for their per- 
sonal security. There was present a large assemblage of men of 
rank, including prelates, such as the Archbishop of Toledo, the 
Bishops of Placentia and Calatrava, and others, all called to council. 
The King orders the Infante and Don Lope to surrender their castles 
and other places, to release the garrisons from their oaths, etc. On 
their excusing themselves, the King commands their arrest. Don 
Lope, transported by passion and uttering ( it is said ) abusive lan- 
guage, enveloped his left arm in his mantle and, sword in hand, 
made toward the King with intent to kiU him. So at least it is 
asserted by the historian ; but it seems far more probable that he 
sought but to protect himself and make good his escape. But the 
nobles rushed upon him, and his right hand being cut off at the first 
blow, he fell easily a victim. These are the words of Mariana : 

"D. Lope cle Haro, puesta mano a la espada, y re\Tielto el uianto a brazo, con 
palabras muy injuriosay, y llamar al Rey tyrano, fementido, cniel, cou todo lo 
demas que se le vino a la boca y que el furor y rabia le daban, se fue para el con 
intento de matalle. Locura gi-ande j demasiado atrevimiento, que le acarreo su 
perdicion : los que cstaban presentes pusieron asimismo mano a sus csi)adas, y 
del primer golpe le cortaron la mano dereclia y cousiguientemente le acabaron."' 
T. VIII. p. 247. 

See Note 20, where the part the King himself took in the affair. — 
which occurred in 1288, — is related from the Chronicle of Don 
Sanclio. 

n. — P. 196. — the great Champion Jdmself.] El Campeador : a 
well-known popular surname of the Cid Buy Diaz, sometimes an- 
nexed to the more usual aftername or forename of honor, as el Cid 
Campeador. Dozy ( Becherches, &a. ut s. Tom. II. p. G5 ) shows 
that Camjyeador is not rightly explained by the usual sense of cam- 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 257 



peon, but that it is derived from a cliivalric usage of the time with 
both Moors and Christians, but adopted by the Christians from the 
Moors, and signifies more truly defier. Our word champion in its 
ordinary sense, and its application rather to the challenger and 
martial assertor of a right than to the challenged and its denier 
translates it well. 

18. — P. 196. Til all this kingdom.] Seville, not Spain. 

19. — P. 197. Your royal sire's example.] • See, above, Note 12, 
The allusion is to the assassination ( it was nothing less ) of the 
Infante Don Fadrique. 

Alonso X., suruamed el Sahio (the accomplished — full of knoiv- 
ledge — " wise ", as it is usually rendered) was (a combination not 
unfrequent ) imprudent throughout his reign, and therefore imliappy 
more or less to its close. It may be questioned whether the se- 
verity with which he is reproached by the chief Spanish historian, 
and especially the precipitate cruelty which stained him in the pres- 
ent instance, were not more the result of a fatal fa.cility in following 
the suggestions of others, than of any real inhumanity. 

20. — P. 197. Your oivn hand smote Diego Lopez dead.] The 
Chronicle of Don Sancho, Cap. 5°., gives m detail the tragic scene 
at Alfaro, The King's part therein is thus recorded ( I quote from 
the comment, vol. viii. p. 250. Mariana): — 

. . "y Juego dieronle [sc. a don Lope Diaz] con una maza en la cabeza que cayo 
en tierra muerto, non lo mandando el E,ey. * Y corno el Rey contra Diego Lopez 
que estaba ai, que le corriera a ciudad de Castil-PLodrigo, y dixo : Diego Lopez, 
que vos mereci, por que me corriades la tieiTa mia, seyendo mi vasallo ? y el nou 
supo razou ninguna que le decir ; y el Rey diole con una espada en la cabeza 
tres golpes en guisa que finco muerto." 

* This is most likolj-, especially if De Haro's action was believed to be aggres- 
sive. But the obscure historian cited in Note SI ( below ) says that the homicide 
was by the King's order, and presents it as an illustration of his cnielty : " Cum 



258 NOTES TO 



21. — P. 197. — w/io has fac'd unshaken, Arni'd and unarmed, 
etc.] Roclericus Santius ( Hist. Hispanicae Part. IIII. C. vii.— in 
Ear. Hisp. Script. Tom. I. ( Francof. fol. 1579 ) p. 379. ) relates, how, 
on the occasion of a mutiny in his army, Sancho went before the 
soldiers, clothed only with his shirt ( " nuclus sola indutus camisia," ) 
and desired them to turn their swords against him, not their fel- 
lows. This not answering, he seized a lance and struck therewith 
two of the ringleaders, — Previously ( ih. ) it is said, in illustration 
of the cruelty which marked his conduct at times: " Saepe . . pro 
parva iuobedientia milites virgis caesi, manus amputavit, inobe- 
dientesque in mediis castris securi jussit percuti, nonnunquam pro- 
pria manu cecidit." 

Mariana gives more than one instance of a cruelty which in 
Sancho seems to have been something more than an indifference 
to human life common to the age and, as its own historians say, to 
his country. Thus, in the affair at Badajos, when the party known 
as Bejaranos surrendered on promise of their lives, he put them all 
to the sicord to the number of 4000, loth men and luomen. T. VIII. 
p. 261. So at Talavera, to impress terror on the partisans of 
Alonso, 400 of the noblest ive^'e puUicly executed and quartered, {ib.) 
He adds however, that the story is one of tradition and not of 
authority ; and we may believe with assurance, that whatever the 
foundation, there is great exaggeration in every such account. 

22. — P. 203. Who is himself surnamed the Strong and Brave — ] 

enim apud oppidnm de Alfaro moram traheret, celeri judicio eb irato ac turbato 
animo pariter et vultu, occidi jussit nobilem virum Liipmn Comitein et dominum 
Vizcaiae." Her. Ilisj}. Script. T. I. p. 380. The King would not need to give an 
order. His look would be sufficient, when the violence and audacity of De Haro 
had reached their height ; and his own part in the scene shows that if the tragedy- 
was not of his direct designing, its catastrophe was not to him unwelcome. It is 
a noticeable trait of the time, the King's talcing upon himself the execution of an 
audacious or troublesome subject. — It is therefore in character, that I have 
mado him put his hand to his sword iu Act V. p. 233. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 259 



In addition to the usual surname el Bravo, Sanelio had the anal- 
ogous one of Fmrte. " Era sin duda osado," adds Mariana, 
"diestro, astuto, y de industria singular en qualquier cosa a que 
se aplicase." VI 11. 200. He had also the highest kind of human 
bravery, namely what is called moral courage. For example : when 
the king his father obtained against him ( 1283) the excommunica- 
tion of P. Martin IV., with its attendant interdicts, the closing of 
the churches, etc., the rebel strong and brave did not hesitate, but 
threatened with death the papal agents and all who should act 
against him in conformity with the edict. 3Iar. VIII. 195. The 
note there (p. 196. ed. cit. ) tehs us, after the Chronicle of D. Alonso 
el Sahio : . . " el infante D. Sancho mando que matasen al que 
traxese estas cartas, apelando al Papa future, 6 para el primer con- 
cilio que se tuviese, 6 para delante de Dies, del agravio que se hacia 
a su tierra," Garibay tells the particulars very neatly, c. xvi. 
lib. xiii. Comp. Historial de Esjjana (Barcel. 1628. in fol. ) Tom. 
II. p. 222. 

23.— P. 205. Vouched hy the Cortes — ] The estabhshment of 
the Cortes begins with the G-othic monarchy, and the Kings of Leon 
and Castile always held them to be the grand ornament and support 
of their thrones. 

. . " bien lejos de dcsconfiar 6 de recelarsc de estas grandes juntas 6 de repu- 
tarlas por contrarias al 6rden 6 depresivas de la Real dignidad, 6 indecorosas 3 
la majestad, y mucho menos por iniitiles y perjiidiciales, las miraban como fuen- 
tes de luz y de verdad, como el mas belle omamento del trono y firmisima columna 
de la justicia, del sosiogo y prosperidad piiblica. 

"Asi pensaba el Eey don Fernando IV [son and successor of Sancho IV.], 
cuando en las cortes del Valladolid del ano 1298 aseguro haberlas convocado — 
' porque sabemos que es a servicio de Dies e nuestro 6 muy gi-ande pro de todos los 
nuestros regnos e mejoramiento del estado de toda nuestra tierra.' " Mar. 
MiVKiNA. Teoria de las Cortes. (Madr. 8°. 1820.) Tom. I., p. .37. The 
heading of tlie Chapter (Cap. IV.) expresses briefly: "En los reynos de 
Leon y Castilla se observe inviolabalmente la pratica de los Godos. Los 
reyes y los subditos miraron siempre las cortes como una de las instituciones 
mas utiles y ventajosas al estado." 

lu the second Chapter, will bo found an account of the Cortes as they 



260 NOTES TO 



existed during the Gothic empire. 

It need not be said that these national assembhes, having their 
origin in public freedom and being its best, if not sole guardian 
through so many ages, yet i^ometimes were the surest agents the 
kings could lind in the execution of decrees that were contrary alike 
to justice and to liberty. All legislative and functional bodies are 
liable to corrupt influences ; and when the Junta at Segovia, under 
the instigation of Don Manuel the King's brother and Don Lope de 
Haro, made the Infante Don Sancho heir to the throne, they fur- 
nished an example of the facility with which the right arm of politi- 
cal freedom and justice might be used to put forward and sustain 
measures that were inimical to both 

24. -P. 209. His cord, this time, Shall make no distaff of Mon~ 
toya's blade.] In a note to p. 66, Tom. II. of the sumptuous work 
of D. Francisco Piferrer, Nohiliario de los Reinos y Senorios de Es- 
jmfia, 2d ed, (Madr. imp. 8° 1857), it is told, in relation to the 
bordure of the arms of Tahera, that a cavalier of that house had a 
single combat with one of the house of Montoya, but a religious of 
the order of San Francisco threw his cord over the swords, en- 
tangling them, and put an end to the fight without dishonor to 
either. In commemoration of which event both the families as- 
sumed the cord in their escutcheon, either as a bordure directly 
( Tabera ), or witliin a bordure ( Montoya. ) 

Montoya. "El antiguo solar de este noble linage fue en la provincia de Alava. 
Sus armas son : Escudo de azau* y diez panelas de plata ; bordiu'a de sinople con 
el cordon de San Francisco de plata."' Nohll. ut s. 119, 

25.— P. 209. Beware the nettles in the Ortiz' hand!] In Tom. I. 
p. 104, of Piferrer, I find two families of Ortiz: one from Garcia 
Ortiz, in 1014, of Navarre, the other from Ortun Ortiz, 1214. of Cas- 
tile, ricos-homhres : whose noble descendants passed to Andalusia 
among other provinces. It is thus seen, he adds, that the lineage of 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 261 



Ortiz is very ancient and of quality ( " calificado " ) in Spain. So Cas- 
tillo {Hist. &a. ut s. p. 409): "Ortiz es appelido uoble en estos 
Reynos, y ay muchos dellos hijosdalgo con notoria bidalguia, y 
Cavalleros, &a." 

On p. 25V of the same vol. of Piferrer there occurs still another 
Ortiz, a valiant warrior who distinguished himself against the Moors. 
He bore, 0/-, a hand dexter proper grasping a maniple of nettles vert : 
a pregnant bearing and allusive to the name ( Ortiga — Urtica, Lat. ) 

Ortiz. "Un esforzado guerriero del apellido Ortiz se seualo en las guen-as contra 
los moros en tiempo del rey Don Jaime. . . Traia por armas : Escudo de oro 
y una niano teniendo tin manojo de ortigas." 

26.— P. 209. Part them!— In the King's name!— Dead! 
Poor Alda !] This verse, though of proper length, according to 
the usual licentioiis mode of accenting the final unaccented syllable, 
really ends with a half-foot. Yet is the rythm exact, an emj^hasis 
being put on the word King\s. 

27. — P. 212. / am the Alcalde Pedro Loriguillo.] Among the 
Alcaldes of Baeza, temp. Sant. IV., are enumerated Diego Alfonso 
de Eihilla and Pedro Loriguillo. Arg. de Molina : NoUeza del Anda- 
luzia ( Sev. in fol. 1588) fol. 164. I havfe placed them in Seville. 
What their virtues were, I know not: I borrow but their names. 

28.— P. 213. Where is he noiv ? — What keeps him from me ? ] 
Omit, on the stage, the latter half of this line. It did not belong to 
the piece as written. But coming to copy, I found the verse defec- 
tive. Such a scene when finished is not to be altered with im- 
punity. But in this instance there was no way of avoiding it. 
Hence the addition, " What keeps him from me ?" or ( as addressed 
more directly, and with a start, almost impatient, to the Alcalde ) 
"Where is Don Ruy?" Neither is of advantage, except to the 
completeness of the versification : but if either be used upon the 



262 NOTES TO 



stage, let it be Whe7'e is Don Buy f said in the manner just in- 
dicated. 

29. — P. 216. ^Tis not Airon.] There was formerly in Granada 
a Avell so called, of very great depth, and from which escaped con- 
tinual blasts of air ; whence its name. Hence arose the proverb, 
To fall into the ivell Airon ( " Caer en el pozo Airon " : In jrrofundifi- 
simum xmteum demergi :) signifying, of anything that is lost, that it 
will be difBcult to find it, or to take it out from the place whereinto 
it has fallen. Dice, de la B. Acad. Esjmn. 1726. — ^^ Pozo Airon. 
. . un pozo que hai en Granada en la falda del Albaicin a espaldas 
de la calle de Elvira, y que se creido fue abierto por los moros con 
el objeto de dar sahda y respiracion d los gases subterraucos y 
precaver la violencia de los terremotos [ a gratuitous and absurd 
popular notion.] " Don Quijote. Com. por Clemencin (Madr. 8"*. 
1835.) Tom. IV. p. 238. There is another Fozo Airon; in the 
province of Cuenca ; a lake however, circular in form and of great 
depth, and whose water is so salt that no animal will drink of it. ib. 

30. — P. 217. She wears only, etc. etc.] Let not the actress make 
the mistake of assuming here full mourning. Dona Alda would 
have no time for such a change. She has quit the house on a sud- 
den impulse, not half an hour after her brother's death. 

31. — P. 218. I 2>ray my King ivill not theji with the laio, . . . 

Leave the assassin, but give him unto me.'] In Sancho Ortiz, EstreUa 

claims this as a right, according to the ancient law in such cases: — 

" Fijadalga a vos me humillo 
Como qiiien soy, y no espero 
Que me clisputeis el fuero 
Antigiio del homiciilo."' Ac. III. Esc. 4. 

32. — P. 218. . . Eico-0'me . . ] Bico Homlre. Equivalent to 
the more modern Grande ( Grandee. ) 

"La Yoz liico-Ome, algimos la entendierou poi- la "Riqueza ; y otros decian. 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 263 



que significava Gixmcleza con Eiqueza, y nohleza con dignidad ; y esta disputa, 
entre eruditos escritores, cess6 por la declaracion que hizo el Rey Don Alfonso el 
Sabio ( Ley 6. tit. 9. part. 2. ) : a saber, Rico-Ome por Linage ypor Bondad^ En- 
tendklo y Valoroso defensor del lie?/.''' Bemi : Creadon, Aiitig. y Privilegios de 
Jos Titulos de CoMilla ( f ol. s. a. ) § 23. p. 84. 

" . . el titolo de Grande de Espafla, que equivale a Rico-Omo en lo antiguo.", 
ib. § 26. p. 85. 



33. — P. 219. She paragons Urraca.'\ This princess, mother of 
the " iSmpcror " Don Aionso YII. of Castile, was of a daring and 
irrepressible spirit, and of a warmth of temperament that did not 
add much to her reputation. She figures in Las Mocedades, and is 
the Infante of Le Cid, where nothing is preserved of her character 
but its amativeness, and that made imbecile. She is said to have 
suddenly died (burst) while robbing a church, one foot ivithin the 
door and one loithout : a story in which the retributive mode of 
death, perhaps altogether and certainly in part, is probably the crea- 
tion of popular superstition, if not invented directly by the priests, 
but the intention of sacrilege may have been reality. Some histo- 
rians deny it altogether (Ferreras, for ex., Tom. III. p. 365 of the 
Fr. transl. see too Jul. del CastiUo p. 231 ) and vindicate her 
memory in other respects. The more reasonable account of her 
death makes it to have occurred in childbed ; Zurita says, in the 
Castle of Saldana, of a son: Anal, de la Corona de Aragon, 1. T. xliv 
(Zaragozu. 4to. 1G69) I. 48. See Gronica del Emp. D. Aionso VII. 
por Sandoval: C. XV. p. 40. ( Madr. fol. 1600, ) : where the popu- 
lar account is detailed, but with evident distrust. She entered the 
monastery of S. Isidro de Leon, to take the treasure of the sacristy, 
given to it by her father and by her grandfather, the founder, and 
was going out loaded ivith the rich spoil [an absurdity] when, just as 
she set her foot without the door of the church, *' rebento en el 
urabral della, cayendo subitamente muerto, quedando el un pie 
dentro del templo, y el oltro fuera." 

The Bishop of Pamplona attributes, to her intelligence and ca- 



204 NOTES TO 



pacity for government, the consideration iu whicli was held Alonso 
VI. (her brother ), whom he makes to have been inspired by her in 
his policy : " que fue Princesa do tan buena cabeza, que don 
Alonso, guiado por ella, fue tenido por uno do los mejores Reyes 
de Espafia." Hist, de los Reyes de C. &a. u. s. p. 39. 

She may have had a share in the assassination of her brother, 
Sancho III. Ross, de St. Hilaire {Hist. di'EsjJ. u. s. ) plainly implies 
it, and Castillo says figuratively, that the assassin took refuge undei' 
lier mantle : " El traidor Yellido, eutrado en Zamora, se fue a meter 
debaxo del manto de la Infante dona Urraca." {Eeyes Godos u. s. 
p. 203. ) This would make her an accomphco after the fact ; satis- 
fied with the result, for the sake of her favorite, Alonso. 

34. — P. 220. She cannot yet Have reacWd the Castle.'] It will 
liave been seen m the Preface^ p. 114., that Arias in the "' Tragedia 
an-eglada " suggests the arrest of EstreUa. It is a mere coinci- 
dence, arising naturally out of the situation. Besides, the inten- 
tion and the motive are different with De Lara. He desires merely 
to have Alda intercepted and recalled ; and this, in order to cave 
his own audacious double-deahng from a detection which must 
result in his death or ruin. 

35. — P. 221. De Lara retiring, with an anxious look — ] I 
have here, in the margin of the Ms., " Would the courtier not sup- 
press it ? " It is a nicety that I think worth noticiug for the 
reader's sake, as well as for my own. But before an audience, 
which has not the time to consider such minutiae, it is one of those 
shght divergences from absolute truth-likeness that are not only 
unimportant in themselves, but often greatly useful. 

36.— P. 221. — the Castle of Triana.] The Moorish fortress in 
that suburb, which is separated from the city by the Guadalquivir. 
It was made, at the close of the Kith century, the residence of the 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 265 



Inquisition, and Conca {Descr. Odepor. Sec. 1790. T. III. 280) 
speaks of it as still occupied by that body, which within a few 
years has had its offices in the stately edifice formerly occupied by 
the Jesuits. Ford tells us ( Handbook of Sjmin, 2d. ed. Murray, 
J 84V ) that the Moorish Castle, ruined by an overflow of the river, 
has been taken down and its site is occupied by a market. 

37. — P. 222. Gone hack to his Castile, and like a man Fought for 
the cause he favor'' d.] The claims of Don Sancho's nephews were at 
one time supported materially by the King of Aragon, by means 
of hostile enterprises in the kingdom of Castile. 

38. — P. 225. Our lord has honor for his virtiious spouse The 
mother of his children.'] This he evinced in 1286, when, after the 
%ilure of the interview which was to have taken place between him 
and the newly crowned monarch of France, Philip le Bel, it was 
proposed as a basis of treaty that the former, because of his affinity 
to Dona Maria, should repudiate her, and take one of the two sisters 
of Philip. The historian says: " D. Sancho sintio esto gravamente. 
Pareciale cosa pesada dex&r una muger tan esclarecida, y en quien 
tenia un hijo y una hija." Mariana. YIII. 226. 

"When, to Don Ruy's words above, Alda replies : 

As he had 
For his ^lh^strious sire : 

it is severely, not in irony. Sancho had so much respect for him- 
self, or so much sagacity, looking to the influence he wished to 
acquire with all classes of the King's subjects, that he never spoke 
of his father but with reverence, even while -in his ambition he 
raised armies against him and intrigued hourly against his crown. 
See again Mariana, ih. 197. 

39. — P. 225. — and Absalom May err where David strayed with 
Vol. II.— 12 



266 NOTES TO 



meaner kiTigs.'l T have marked in the margin: "Out of character 

and situation." I am afraid that it is, but feel doubtful, because 

indignation might give that nerve to Alda which would stimulate 

her for the moment into forgetfulness of the situation and make her 

speak with mascuhne energy. Indeed she is more or less vigorous 

throughout the Scene, and at all times since impassioned by her 

brother's death. However, either of the following readings would 

be unexceptionable in both particulars : 

The mother of his children. 

Alda. As he had 
For his own father. A revolted son 
May have the vice which sullies virtuous kings : 

or : 

The mother of his children, and has shown it 
More than one time. 

Alda. Yet, as with other kings 

Must I pursue ? etc. 

40.-^P. 227. ^Tis my Cid ! ] The King is quoting, allusively, 
from the old ballads. But the style mio Cid was not confined to 
the ballads. See Sandoval: Hist, &a. u. s fol. 60, p. 2. " ^ Mio Cid 
semper vocatus ', dit I'ancien biographe d'Alphonse VII." Dozy: 
Becherches etc. u. s. p. 68. I hardly need repeat, after that schol- 
arly critic, that the phrase is Arabic, and signifies my lord. But 
though derived from the Moors, I doubt that it had the origin 
ascribed to it in story. 

41. — P. 227. Of giving life to the Infante^s claims, etc.] The title 
of Infante is properly confined to the second and other junior sons 
of the King. (Berni: Creadon, &a. u. s. §19, p. 83.) Don 
Alonso, or Alfonso, de la Cerda, was the eldest son of Don Sancho's 
elder brother and had already styled himself King of CastUe. " El 
Infante don Alonso de la Cerda, hijo del Infante d. Fernando, se 
llama en estos dias Eey de Castilla y Leon, y siendo favorecido de 
los Reyes de Francia y Aragon y aun de Sicilia, entro en su Uga 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 267 



en estos dias Mahomed, queriendo favorecer al Infante Cerda." 
Bleda: Cronica, &a. u. s. p. 501. Therefore Don Luis used this 
title artfully in depreciation. The distinction however is not always 
observed by historians. Thus the Padre^ in the passage just cited, 
gives it not only to the Pretender as well as to his brother, but to 
their father, who was the actual heir apparent of Alonso X. 

By " uncle ", Don Luis ( who is a fictitious personage ) refers to 
Don Alvar Nunez de Lara, who headed the people of Seville in their 
opposition to the claims of Sancho's brother Juan to that city, 
founded on their father's will, — thus insinuating the services to 
which, by a reasonable inference, the fabulous Luis may be sup- 
posed to have owed his first steps in the King's favor. 

42.— P. 229. The Alcayde.'] Governor of the Castle. 

43. -P. 232. — he is about to bring it to the King, etc.'] This 
supposes Ruy to be unwilling still to expose liis sovereign. — 
Otherwise : 

My lord commands. [ITa/ids the2inper to Pedro, who is next him. 

Peel?'. It bears the royal seal. 
A letter of safe-conduct. 

King. Read aloud. 

44.— P. 232. I the King.] Yo el Rey. This is the only mode in 
which the Spanish monarch s give their signatures, as may be seen, 
for example, in the Privilegio, or grant of exclusive rights, prefixed, 
as was the custom a century or two ago, to newlj' published books. 

45. — P. 234. — the bridge — ] sc. of boats : which primitive 
and inelegant mode of passage continued down to a very late day. 

. . "el qual [Guadalquibir] se passa por encima de una puente de madera 
hecha sobre diez y siete barcas grandes travadas con gruessas vigas y tablazon." 
Pedro de Medina, u. .9. c. xliv. fol. li. 

There is a fuller description in Varflora : Hist. Descr. de Sevilla 
■d. s. p. 93. 



268 NOTES TO 



46. — P. 235. Perez de Guzman.'] The celebrated ancestor of the 
Dukes of Medina Sidonia. In the year preceding the date adopted 
for the play, the Infante Don Juan, Sancho's brother, always more 
or less in rebellion against him, having again revolted, and being 
forced by the King of Portugal, Avith whom he had taken refuge, to 
leave his kingdom, received aid from the King of Morocco, who 
sent him troops to enable him to besiege Tarifa. Alouso Perez de 
Guzman, an experienced commander, who had served in Africa the 
King of the Moors, was governor of the place. It so happened 
that the invaders got possession of his only son, and taking him 
before the walls, threatened to put him to death before his father's 
eyes unless the city was surrendered. The governor, apparently 
unmoved, declared that if he had a hundred sons he would risk 
them all rather than violate the trust reposed in him. And there- 
with he threw from the ramparts a sw' ord with which they might 
execute their threats, if they chose. This done, he tvent to dine. 
The Moors did as they had threatened. The soldiers on the waUs 
uttered a cry of horror. Whereupon G-uzman came out, as if to see 
what the matter w^as, and remarking coolly, he thought the enemy 
had entered the city, returned to eat vjWi his loife. (Mariana. VIII. 
ed. cit. 285, 6. ) A piece of affectation, which, if it really was prac- 
ticed, was carried too far. One may well admire the heroism of ihe 
sacrifice, but its greatness is tarnished by a show of indifference, 
where mute sorrow had more become him, in his soldiers' eyes as 
before the world which would have one day to pronounce upon his 
action. The story, with or without its romantic accessories, is 
characteristic of the time. As for the barbarous deed itself, our 
abhorrence of it is increased by the fact that it was countenanced 
by the Prince, if not directly commanded by him, as is said in the 
Chronicle of Don Sancho, ( note to Mariana u. s. ) 

" Y el Infante D. Juan .... envi6 & decir i este D. Alonso Perez que le diese 
la villa, si non que le niataria el sii hijo que 61 tenia. Y Don Alonso Perez le 
dLxo, que la villa que la tenia por el Rey, j que non gela daria : que quanto por 



THE CID OF SEVILLE 269 

la inuerte de su hijo que 61 le daria el cuchillo con que le matase : y lanz6les de 
encima del adarve un cuchillo, y dixo que antes queria que le matasen aquel 
hijo, y otros cinco si los tuviese, que non darle la villa del Key su SeBor de que le 
hiciera homenage. Y el Infante D. Juan con sana niando matar al hijo ante el ; y 
con todo esto nunca pudo tomar la villa." 

It will be seen that the simple chronicler adds none of those 
extravagant particulars which the historian, fond of romance and 
not always regardful of the substantiality of his adornments, thought 
proper to insert in his detail. Conde relates that the governor's 
son was in the service of D. Juan, which is more probable, while 
it adds to the atrocity of his murder, and that, when the proposition 
was made to surrender him for the fortriess, with a threat of his 
death in case of refusal, the Alcayde made no reply ( which too is more 
probable, — though one regrets it, for the sake of the story ) otlier 
than by baring his sivord and flinging it to the plain; lohereupon he 
retired. The Moslems, infuriated by the expression of this reply, he- 
headed the youth, and lanched by a catajmlt his head upon the ivall, that 
his father might see it After this useless act of barbarity, they 
raised the siege and retired to Algesiras. Dominaciou de los Arabes, 
u. s. P. IV. c. xiii. Tom. Ill, p. 79. 

About three months before his death, namely, in January 1295, 
the King wrote a letter to Perez de Guzman, in which, praising his 
loyalty and constancy, he compares him with Holy Abraham, and 
commands him to put among his titles the surname of Bueno 
( Good ) which he had already gained by his virtues and the popu- 
lar regard for his ample charities. This letter is preserved by the 
Dukes of Medina Sidonia : a treasure of more estimation than gold 
and pearls of the Levant. Mariana, u. s. 28T. 



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